Fate Zero: Sword's Redemption
by Dhaturas
Summary: On the eve of the Fourth Holy Grail War, Caster is summoned in a different house with a different family's blood. And so, the Fate of the Holy Grail War will forever be changed.
1. Fateful Night's Twist

Chapter 1: Fateful Night's Twist

Hey, do you know about the multiverse theory? It should be common knowledge now, but physicists have determined the existence of parallel worlds, an infinite number of worlds so like one another and yet not. The multiverse is a set of worlds that hold every possibility and every reality.

Say, for example, in the Fourth Holy Grail War of Fuyuki City, if a certain deranged serial killer had stumbled upon a different family one night, how differently would things play out?

Not much, you say? The serial killer would still summon a Servant and it would still murder the child? Well, that's not impossible. Sure, the child could just die and the war would play out like it did in countless other worlds.

But what if the summoned Servant wouldn't kill the child? After all, what kind of Servant would kill its own Master on the get-go?

* * *

 _The FIRST Night..._

The ? family residence was attacked one night. The parents were caught off guard and restrained. Their only son hidden in the upstairs bedroom heard the commotion. His parent's muffled scream and a stranger's maniacal laughter. The boy searched for a weapon he could use. He fished out his baseball bat and climbed down the stairs, quiet as a rat. He snaked behind the attacker. The boy struck the metal bat at the man's head.

The man ducked and tripped the boy with the back of his foot. He faced the boy with a disapproving gaze. "Hey, hey, kid, that hurts like hell when it actually hits. And I should know, in the past, some kids got the jump on me. Ugh, that was really embarrassing."

He snatched the bat from the child. "Can you imagine a brat beating the big old bad serial killer? He'd be a hero, right? Cool, right?" A grin spread on his face. "Too bad, kid."

The boy saw his metal bat swing down to his face and then everything faded to black.

* * *

The boy opened his eyes in hell. It was the smell that got to him first. The metallic stench violated his nostrils, inflaming him with dread. His eyes finally adjusted to the dark and horror struck his face pale.

The lights to the living room were turned off. The furniture forced out to the sides, at the center of the room a bloody magic circle had been drawn. Horrible crimson ran across the wooden floor, staining everything in death. He tried to scream, but found his mouth gagged.

"Oh, you're finally awake!" A familiar voice rang in the dark. His eyes caught the sick grin of the man from before, the self-declared "serial killer".

"Perfect timing." He clapped his hands. He walked to the couch at the edge of the room. "Your parents were beginning to lose too much and I was getting bored."

The boy's eyes widened in horror. There sitting on the couch, his parents bound and bloody, suffering several deep stabs in the gut, their skin marred with long cuts, their mouths gagged like his, tears streaking down their sweaty faces. From their wide open wounds, their blood leaked out so naturally that in the dark they looked like black sweat. One drop out after the other, a constant flow.

"Here's how the game works, kid." The man smiled serenely. "I need a lot of blood for a project of mine. That's why I'm having your parents here help me out a bit. But it seems I bit off more than I could chew..."

His wolfish grin gleamed in the dark. He placed his hands on the parents' shoulders."You get to pick which parent gets to live! Isn't that COOL?"

What?

The boy furrowed his brows in despair. How was that in anyway cool? Terror cried out through his mother and father's eyes. The boy focused on them, paralyzed in that same terror. The weight of his decision crushed him. To save one life, but lose the other?

"Oh, don't give me that look." The serial killer frowned. "I rarely do these kind of things, you know? They're kind of a drag on my part." He scratched his head wildly. "But I couldn't help myself this time. I mean," he grinned like crazy, "you tried to play the hero, right?"

The boy's trembling eyes stilled. What?

"You wanted to be the COOL hero of this story! It was just so cute!" The man's breathing went manic. He hugged his stomach. Giggles broke out from his mouth. "A kid imitating a superhero, to save his precious family no less!"

The man halted. His eyes stared dead ahead. "It makes me want to smash that kid's dream."

The boy's eyes freaked out. Tears streamed down. He couldn't decide. His mother or his father... only one could be saved, one must be sacrificed.

"Huh? What are you waiting for, kid? Pick already." The man pulled out a bloodied knife. "Greedy kids need to be punished, okay? You only get to keep one parent, alright? Just one. So, who the FUCK is it going to be?"

The man stepped behind the couch. His face still smiling disconcertingly.

"Is it going to be DADDY?" The knife dug into the boy's father's shoulder. The blade twisted and stirred up the man's innards, producing the gruesome sounds of tearing flesh. "Or is it going to be MOMMY?" A merciless stab into his mother's shoulder. Her blood erupted out like the blossoming of a crimson flower.

The boy screamed into his gag, but he still couldn't pick. He loved them both too much. He looked them in the eye, his mind falling into despair.

His parents' expressions now warped in pain looked back at him. Their mouth's gagged. They could share no words. Their restraints allowed only their fingers any degree of free motion. A single gesture. A flex of a finger and someone's life would be offered up. They all came to the same decision.

"What the hell...?"

All three of them pointed at themselves at the exact same moment. The parents told their son to sacrifice themselves for their son and spouse. The son unable to choose between his parents offered himself instead.

The serial killer's head sunk low. His expression hidden in the dark.

"What's up with that... That's so not COOL... You're all so boring," the man whispered. "You would all die for your family? What kind of ending is that? Too boring. That's NOT COOL at all!"

The man who kept saying COOL like it was the holiest word in the world slit the father and mother's throats. Their carotid arteries burst forth instantly, spouting out the last of their lives.

The boy screamed his heart out so hard his vision blurred.

"You chose wrong, hero." He heard last.

* * *

The boy lost track of the serial killer's actions. The man was still in the room. His parents laid crumpled on their now stained sofa. The man had wrung them dry for every drop of blood they had to offer. It had been a heart-wrenching sight, but now, the boy could no longer see pass the tears in his eyes. Not even caring to look anymore.

His pupils were obscured with the dark. He replayed his parents' final moments over and over in his mind. That last look of sheer fear they shared haunted him. If the boy had done things differently, if he had somehow made a different decision, would they still be with him in this world right now? If perhaps he had called the police instead of trying to play the hero... then this tragedy might never have happened...

The man's heartfelt laugh broke the boy from his thoughts. The man had almost finished the magic circle of blood on the floor. He grinned as he smeared more of the boy's parents' blood for extra measure. Just a few more touches here and there and... voila! Finished.

"This is gonna be so COOL!" The serial killer breathed out ecstatically. He clapped his hands together and looked at the boy. "Hey, kid have you ever heard of summoning a demon?"

The boy was lost in a daze and didn't bother to reply.

"That's right, a demon. Like in video games and anime! A real flesh and blood demon! Wouldn't that be just the COOLEST!" The man opened his arms in a wide embrace. "Just think of all the COOL things I could do together with a demon! I don't even know where to begin!"

"Oh," the man paused and looked down at the boy. "Of course, I'll start with feeding you to it."

The boy did not so much as flinch at those words. His consciousness already retreating from reality, escaping into an inner world where everything was right and obeyed his will.

The serial killer started his summoning, reciting lines from an old leather-bound book. The words didn't mean anything to either of their ears. The man mouthed each word poorly.

A demon. The boy didn't know what actual demons looked like. But staring at the man who killed his parents stand beside a circle made from their blood, it filled with him a single thought.

 _That demon, right over there, ought to die. He needs to die, in the most painful possible way._

The boy would give anything and everything if it should mean that monster's destruction. He didn't care about justice or heroics. He just wanted him to suffer in the worst possible way.

"Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill," The man chanted. "Yeah, that makes five times..."

So consumed was the boy in his dark thoughts, that he didn't even notice the hot pain searing into his left hand.

The bloody circle sparked red electricity and the boy's hand shone a brilliant red light.

"Wha-" The man shielded his eyes from the sudden flash of light.

The dark room was illuminated. Smoke filled the air and a new third silhouette appeared. It was the broad figure of a man in his early thirties.

The smoke soon parted and the serial killer stared mouth agape at his newly summoned demon.

For a demon, he looked perfectly human. Rather tall, muscular, tan skinned and with sleeked back white hair. He wore dark tight fitting body armor shrouded by red garments.

The demon frowned. "Are you supposed to be my Master?" Its nose twitched. The familiar stench of blood immediately registered.

"Eh, Master?" The man blinked twice, thrice, then tilted his head. He shrugged. "Maybe, but, ugh, for the time being, how about a sacrifice, Mr. Demon?" He gestured to the boy tied up on the floor.

The demon raised a brow, but then widened his eyes after having one look at the boy. He gritted his teeth. So, _that's_ how he had been summoned.

 _Kill the monster. Kill him. Kill him._

The connection was flimsy, but sturdy enough for the boy's thoughts to reach him.

"I see how it is." The demon sighed and shook his head. "No matter the time and place, my summoning always means the same thing."

"Huh?" The man didn't understand the demon's words. But he didn't have the time to even process it before he felt a piercing sensation go through his abdomen. He stared blankly at the new red fluid bursting forth from his stomach.

"W-what's this coming out of me...? It's... so COOL..." His smile broadened at the new found color of his own blood. Joy filled him as warmth left him.

"As you wish, Master," the demon spoke in front of the man. "This monster will suffer your rage."

The living room of the ? household was filled with the ecstatic screams of a man experiencing the worst of human suffering physically possible. The demon fulfilled his contract with his master without a smile. The boy sprawled on the floor almost giggled at the sight of the killer's end.

Who was COOL now?

* * *

Once the screams had died down and the serial killer was just another bloodstain on the floor, the demon freed the boy from his restraints. He cut the boy's bonds loose with the same knife that had ended his parents' lives.

The boy now free simply sat on the bloodied floor. His eyes never left the lifeless corpses of his parents. Their heads fallen to the floor, while their bodies remained seated on the couch.

"Servant Caster at your service, Master," the 'demon' introduced himself to the boy.

The boy stared up at 'Caster' and familial recognition sneaked into his heart. "Dad?"

Caster's frown sank even lower at that. He shook his head and did the boy a kindness by snuffing out any false sense of hope. "I am not your father, boy. I am your servant and you are my master. That is all."

The boy just blinked at Caster's strangely cold words. "I am your Master...?"

"That's right." Caster nodded grimly. "And you've just stumbled into a war ten years too early for you, boy."

The servant stepped towards his master. His hands tightened around the weight he carried. "I'll be frank and be the first to admit that you and I have the lowest chances of surviving the first night, let alone winning the whole war."

Caster glared at the boy's confusion. "So, I will do us both a kindness and put an end to things right here and now." He raised his hand and the boy shrunk away from the knife that slayed his parents.

"Are you going to kill me...?" The boy asked slowly.

"Yes."

"I see..."

Caster tightened his expression. "You're not afraid?"

"I am." The boy shook his head. Still, his face remained stoic. "I don't want to die. But, I don't think I have the right to live either..."

Caster's raised arm didn't move. On a whim, he asked, "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's my fault that monster killed mom and dad. I was the one who wanted to play the hero and save them both." He explained, tears running down his face. "I thought I could do the impossible if I just tried hard enough... but in the end, I only made things worse..."

He bent his head down, too ashamed to look at his Servant in the face. Tears and snot smeared his cheeks. "I don't deserve to live!"

Caster's frown twitched at the boy's words. Their connection as Master and Servant only further conveyed the boy's heartfelt regret.

Caster could practically feel it himself. The heavy weight of having cost the lives of those dear to him. The gut-wrenching regret of having committed a mistake in judgement for the sake of a misguided heroism. The saddest wish to put an end to one's own life.

Caster saw himself, standing atop that hill of swords, his back stabbed through with the countless blades he made himself, staring up at the broken sky. Always waiting on that hill, understanding that he would never be understood.

He looked back down at the sniveling child on the floor.

Caster dropped the knife. Its blade lodged into the floor with an audible thud. The boy shrunk back away from it, still waiting for the inevitable.

But instead of the cold stab of steel he had expected, the boy felt a brush of warmth embrace him.

"Huh?"

He halted at a loss. His rapid breathing returned to normal. His tears froze in place.

Because after all, Caster was holding him in his arms. Their hearts pressed against each other so close, his pain became Caster's pain.

"Caster...?"

The Servant did not answer. His resolution for the coming war hardened.

"What is your name, Master?" Caster asked even though he already knew.

"Eh, uh, it's Shirou..."

And so, the last Master and Servant pair of the Holy Grail War came to be that night.

* * *

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading.


	2. Help Me

**Trigger Warning:** Some scenes may contain attempts at suicide, which is never the answer, of course. So, be forewarned, and read with caution. Seek appropriate professional help if necessary.

* * *

Chapter 2: Help Me

Caster reconsidered killing the boy in his arms. The child was defenseless. With a mere thought, he could have a knife to stab through the kid's back. It'd be a quick death, a merciful one, like the one a certain Lancer once gave him so long ago. He'd even be doing the kid a favor. Moments ago, the boy had been bawling on his knees, begging for his own death.

So, why?

Why didn't he do it? Why did he drop the knife at the last moment, take the boy into his arms and ask for his name? Why?

Caster couldn't make sense of his own actions. He only knew a tight knot had wrapped itself around his heart when he saw the child breakdown in tears. At that moment, he had just wanted nothing more than to ease the boy's pain.

"Caster," The boy squirmed in his arms. "Aren't you… going to kill me?"

Even if it was illogical. Even if it meant going against everything he stood for. Caster, at that moment, did not want to kill the boy Shirou. At least that's what his heart told him.

"Do you want me to kill you, Master?" He opened the palm of his hands. Faint blue particles of energy gathered around in his hands, shaping into the form of a dagger.

"I…" The boy choked. "I just…"

Caster waited for the rest of Shirou's answer, but all he heard were the broken sounds of a boy in tears and his desperate catches for breath.

"I just want…"

Time passed, but the boy could not utter another word pass the tears.

The answer would not come.

Caster relaxed his hand, and the particles of prana dispersed.

The boy would live, he decided. At least until he could get a clear answer of the boy's wishes. He would have to calm down first. And the first step for that would be…

Caster released Shirou from his embrace. He held the boy by the shoulders, had a good long look at him, then sniffed with his nose. He frowned teasingly.

"Setting aside the matter of me killing you, Master." Caster wrinkled his nose. "You need a bath."

Shirou's erratic breathing paused abruptly. He stared up blankly at the Servant. Had he heard right?

"Yes, a bath. With all due respect, Master, but you smell like you've just been through a marathon." He got up and opened the living room door. "We can talk about who's killing whom when you've calmed down. I trust you're old enough to wash your own body, boy?" He smirked mockingly.

Shirou frowned, a tad indignant. He glanced at the room before responding back. "O-of course, I do. But what about-"

"But nothing."

The boy flinched at the firmness of the Servant's tone. It reminded him of his own father's commanding voice. "A-alright." He could not refuse.

"Then get lost, kid." Caster pointed to the stairs with his thumb.

Shirou shuffled out the room, frowning. This 'Servant' was too unpredictable.

The boy climbed up the stairs quietly. But Caster's reinforced hearing could pick up even the child's breathing. It was still distraught, but incredulity had at least calmed it down.

Caster sighed when he heard Shirou climb up the last step. He glanced at the room he had kicked the boy out of. The bloody murder he'd been roped into against his will.

Caster had some cleaning up to do.

* * *

He managed to find a mop and bucket in a closet. The strong scent of bleach was foul to his nose, but it would do well to mask the stench of death over the room. Caster flipped the lights switch and frowned. He had always said the life of a Counter Guardian was nothing but cleaning up bloody messes.

And boy, was the room a bloody mess. The floorboards alone would be stained red for quite some time. But the bits and pieces of human flesh and innards left scattered across the furniture made his task even more difficult. He was beginning to regret going overboard with killing the serial killer. But at the time, his Master _had_ commanded him to slaughter the bastard and he had been too willing to oblige.

He mopped up the serial killer's blood and remains with a stoic face. At the time, he had simply done what he wanted. The man had murdered a child's parents in front of him. He was a veritable monster with the potential of killing many more people. In response, Caster had killed the man in cold blood.

That was simple. Kill one to save many. It was the twisted ideal he had spent his life following. However much he regretted his life, he still saw the worth in such an ideal and took a man's life.

Caster squeezed the man's filthy blood into the bucket. The dark liquid splashing into the murky pool. He scooped up the man's chewed up remains and threw them into a garbage bag.

What then, should he do with the boy? Was it right for him to kill Shirou, when he had done nothing wrong? When he was just the innocent witness to his parents' murder? No, to anyone's eyes, it would've been completely unjust for the boy to die.

He pulled out a second bucket, and set about mopping the summoning circle. He was careful to keep the parents' blood separate from the serial killer's as much as possible.

But even if it was wrong, Caster still had a once in a lifetime opportunity. He could finally erase his existence. There was no certainty in the end result, but it wasn't impossible. If he simply killed his younger self, that is, if Emiya Shirou killed Emiya Shirou, then the paradox's effect just might be enough to overwrite even his pact with Alaya. He could potentially undo the mistake that was the "Hero of Justice Emiya Shirou".

But then that would also mean Caster would have to slay the life of an innocent child.

Caster stared at the dried up remains of the boy's parents, left lying on the couch, discarded, headless. Their eternally screaming faces rolling on the floor like excited basketballs.

Killing children, even innocent ones, wasn't anything new for Caster. The Counter Force had him commit countless atrocities in the name of mankind's survival. A little more blood on his hands wouldn't change anything. So, why had he faltered?

Caster found his eyes drifting to a framed picture left on a table. The image was one of the few items left immaculately free of any bloodstains.

His hands still dripping with red, Caster absentmindedly picked up the picture. It was a photo taken in some theme park called "Gaku Gaku Animal Land". In front of a giant lion mascot statue, a family of three stood huddled together. The smiles they all wore were radiant. The father was a tall fellow with disheveled black hair and brilliant blue eyes. The mother was a foreign beauty with short red hair tied in a side pony tail and bright golden eyes. Nestled between the two, a childish Shirou beamed cheekily at the camera. The caption beneath the photo read:

" _The Fujimaru Family celebrating Shirou's 7th Birthday_ "

The Fujimaru family, huh. So that was the name of Caster's original family. He had no memories of them left. But just from seeing their faces, Caster could see the family resemblance. Shirou had received his mother's hair and eye colors, while his build and hairstyle were traits from his father. If Caster squinted, Shirou's father could pass for a mirror image of himself, save for the hair and skin colors.

Caster's eyes returned to the now deceased bodies of Shirou's, well, _their_ parents. It was difficult to overlap the smiling faces on the photograph with the horrified stares of the decapitated heads. He gingerly picked up his mother's head, her red hair cradled in his bloodied hands.

"Mother and father, huh," he whispered with a self-deprecating smile. "It's strange. I can't even shed a tear for either of you. I thought I would at least be more emotional."

There was no response, of course. His parents had died long before him in his original life. And as fate would have it, they died before he could he meet them in this timeline as well. Their blood used as the very catalyst to summon him.

"I wonder if you would approve of my plans," Caster smirked. "I originally planned to kill your son on the spot, but now, I'm not too sure…"

The right answer. The answer Caster sought. Once they had been indefinitely intertwined. But now, seeing the faces of the boy's family, he began to waver once more. He wondered if there were any meaning at all to the answer he would arrive at.

Caster slid his fingers over his mother's eyes. He closed them into solemn darkness once and for all.

Whatever decision he would make, this story could only end in tragedy.

* * *

Shirou stared at the rippling image of his reflection over the water. Already finished with washing himself, he was just killing time in the water, soaking in the last bits of warmth before it all dropped cold. His mother had prepared the warm bath for him earlier. He never thought it would be the last one she'd ever prepare for him.

He crumbled into a fetal position, sinking his head over his knees and hugging his legs. He hated looking at his reflection, but he couldn't bring himself to look anywhere else but down. He felt an oppressive force dragging his heart down, reminding him that the way of life he'd been so used to was now destroyed. His parents were dead. He watched them die. They were gone.

He balled his hands into fists and grinded his teeth. It was that damn monster's fault. That "COOL" bastard had ruined his life. He was the one who invaded their home and murdered his parents. He was the one who tortured them until they eventually ran out of blood.

Shirou flashed a grin, recalling the monster's final moments. He relished every gory detail. The way Caster cut the man open with his swords, just enough to have him bleed and stay conscious for the pain. The way Caster grinded his bones before dismembering his limbs one by one. The way his face… contorted into a look of pure ecstasy right before he breathed his last.

He stopped smiling. For whatever the reason, the man had gone out smiling, liking he was enjoying the torture. Shirou couldn't comprehend why or how that was possible, but he knew that look of contentment the man wore was too good for scum like him. Shirou's own parents had gone out screaming in pain.

It just wasn't fair. Why did they have to die? Why did the monster have to target their house? Why does the monster get to die with a smile when his parents couldn't even scream for help? Why were his parents dead while Shirou still breathed?

None of it made any sense. They were good people. Kind. Loving. A bit strict. But they were his parents, they were the pillars of his world. Without them, he was just… alone.

Shirou felt the water lift him up. The buoyant force suspending him afloat. He felt his tiny body be carried adrift, aimlessly bobbing left and right.

Once, he found joy in being carried by the water, he felt like a sea turtle catching a current. Now, he felt like a discarded piece of trash, carelessly thrown around by the capricious sea gods.

He was trash. He knew that. Even if the serial killer had targeted his family, if he had been more responsible and escaped to call the police, then his parents would still be with him right now. In a way, he was the one who killed his parents. Him and his pathetic, childish heroism.

 _You wanted to be the COOL hero of this story! It was just so cute._

The serial killer's voice echoed across the waters. He saw the world darken. The bath water slowly dying into the color of crimson.

 _You chose wrong, hero._

Yes, he knew it to be true. He was the one who erred, and he was the one who still alive. It didn't make any sense.

He didn't deserve it.

He opened the faucet to full blast. He felt the waters rise and his heart raced for what he was about to do. He stayed down beneath the water and opened his mouth. He gave up his breath and let the waters enter him. His body wanted to float back up, but he resisted, holding himself down. He felt the raging rush of an ocean consuming himself from within. Reflexively, he gagged, rejecting the water. His primal instincts demanded him to resurface, but his heart would not let it.

He was killing himself. His head throbbed with pain, resisting the urge to save himself. He didn't want to go back up to the surface. There was no one waiting for him there, not anymore. His parents were dead and their killer was dead. He should be dead too. His sins were too grave. The part he played in their murder, the idiotic bystander.

 _You tried to play the hero._

Shirou had been a fool for that.

 _Greedy kids need to be punished._

He had made the mistake.

 _I don't deserve to live!_

He began to see the light at the end of the tunnel of his struggle. That white death beckoning him to accept his sins, submit to his punishment.

 ** _That's not true._**

Shirou coughed out a gush of water. He recalled the strangely familiar warmth of Caster's embrace. The tender firmness of his hold. The rapid beating of his heart.

Shirou burst out of the water gasping. His face red and teary. His heart pounding a mile a minute and his eyes bleary with water.

The torrential flow of water filled the room's silence. Shirou stared back at his murky reflection. All he saw was the face of a coward who didn't even have the guts to die.

"Damn it." He punched his face on the water. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"

He threw one punch after the other causing the bath to overflow. Large bubbles scrambled his reflection. His screams getting louder and louder, until it finally dropped, losing all energy.

"I… just…" Tears leaked out of his eyes. "…don't know what to do…"

With a slap, he fell face first back into the water. His warm tears lost into the flowing water. It was all cold now.

* * *

Caster listened closely to Shirou's heartbeat from behind the bathroom door. It was slowly steadying, and the boy finally stopped pounding his fists into the water. He sighed in relief. He hadn't thought the boy would be so delicate. But he supposed it was only natural after what he experienced. Any child would have been traumatized.

Still, it was another indicator of how this Shirou was not Emiya Shirou. If it were the Emiya Shirou in his memories, suicide would be the last thing in his mind after witnessing a murder. An Emiya would have focused on saving as many lives as possible.

This kid was a Fujimaru, an ordinary and unfortunate child. His family had inherited some latent magus blood, but that was about it. He was every bit as mundane as every other kid out there. Was that the reason why he had offered those words?

" _That's not true_ , huh," Caster muttered to himself, shaking his head.

He wasn't certain how genuine those words were, but nevertheless, he felt the urge to say them through their contract.

Caster knocked on the door. "Hey, you've been there too long. Hurry up and get down stairs. We have a lot to discuss."

He heard a sudden jolt and a frantic splash of water. He detected a flush of embarrassment from his Master, probably from having his tantrum overheard by a stranger.

The boy muttered an agreement and Caster loudly climbed down the stairs. He might have to take extra precautions with the boy. Suicide may or may not be enough to erase his pact with Alaya, but either way he couldn't have the boy dying too soon.

Caster returned to the living room which was now looking much cleaner than before. He had finished setting aside the death and gore and had restored it to at least a presentable shape. He stepped into the kitchen and retraced his last steps.

He had been in the middle of cooking a meal for the boy when he felt his Master's distress through the contract. It had been a subject of debate for him, what to serve for a traumatized boy. But after hearing how distraught the boy was at the bath, anything with meat was off the table. Vegetables might have been option, but he was trying to cheer the kid up, not upset his stomach.

After scrounging through their fridge, Caster compromised with pancakes. The family had left some leftover batter and some other ingredients in the fridge and it appealed to kids enough without sacrificing too much on nutrition.

He was halfway through finishing the last pancake when the boy arrived.

"You're… making pancakes?" The boy managed to speak calmly this time, his tone still as incredulous as before.

"Obviously."

"But it's the middle of the night…"

"Are you saying you don't want any?"

Shirou quickly shook his head. "N-no, I want some. It's just that… mom used to make me those every morning."

Caster pondered over that tidbit of information. The boy's mother had been a foreigner. Hence the staple presence of pancakes in their diet wouldn't be strange. "Well, I hope you're hungry."

Caster flipped the last pancake and served it on a plate with the rest. He left it on the table next to a fork and knife. He motioned for Shirou to sit and the boy awkwardly obeyed the Servant.

Out of habit, the boy clapped his hands and whispered, "Itadakimasu."

Caster took a seat in front of the boy and observed his reactions. He couldn't lie. It was funny to see the child's expression shift from one of cautious hesitation to surprise and then to satisfied bliss.

After Shirou had a few mouthfuls, he stared at the Servant-turned-cook. "Aren't you going to have some?"

"No need. Servants do not require food the same way humans do." Caster replied automatically.

"Servant…?" Shirou blinked, tilting his head. "You've mentioned that before, but I still don't get it."

Caster sighed and shook his head. "I'm sure you don't. It's a pain to have to explain everything to a child. But for starters, have you noticed the markings on your left hand, Master?"

Shirou noticed that word again. Master. Why did he keep calling him that?

"You mean this?" The boy raised his hand. It was impossible to miss. Even after scrubbing with all his might, the markings wouldn't wash off. They eerily shone a faint red glow, in the vague shape of a winged dagger.

"Those are your Command Seals. They're proof of your entrance to a magic ritual called a Holy Grail War. It's also a symbol of our contract and your power over me." Caster explained.

Shirou stopped eating his pancakes. "They're my what? Magic ritual?"

Caster sighed again. This was beginning to become cumbersome. "After what you've witnessed tonight, you should know magic is real, right, Master?"

Shirou nodded slowly. The glowing circle of blood, Caster's sudden appearance and the dozens of swords he conjured were proof enough.

"Well, magic or magecraft, whatever you want to call it is real. The point is that magi exist in secret across the globe. It just so happens that in this city called Fuyuki a grand ritual between seven magi is taking place." Caster said, folding his hands.

"The Holy Grail War?"

"Exactly. These seven magi act as Masters and summon the spirits of deceased heroes to act as Servants in a free-for-all proxy war. Each Servant comes with a class and a specific skill set. I am of the Caster class and hence, you shall refer to me as Caster from here on out."

Shirou frowned. "Does that mean 'Caster' isn't your real name, Caster?"

"You're a fast learner, huh, Master," Caster smirked. "Yes, Caster is not my real name. I have a True Name. All Servants do. But you'll have to excuse me from revealing mine. As things stand, I cannot trust you to keep it a secret from the other Masters."

"Why would you need to keep your name a secret?" Shirou furrowed his brows and picked at his pancakes. "It's just a name."

Caster clicked his tongue. "Master, revealing one's identity is tantamount to revealing one's strengths and weaknesses. The less information our enemies have on us, the better we stand to survive this war."

Shirou scratched his knife against his plate, slicing off a piece of pancake. "A war between seven Masters and seven Servants. With Servants as strong as you Caster…"

Shirou recalled the agonized faces of his mother and father. The blood they lost to feed the crazy serial killer's summoning circle, the one used to summon Caster. For the sake of some stupid ritual, that man came bursting into their home and took his parents' blood.

His hands tightened around the knife he was holding. "So, you're telling me my parents died for your stupid war."

"It would appear so." Caster did not deny it. "A magic circle can be made from many things. The blood of a latent magus family is potent enough."

"Magus family…? What are you talking about?" Shirou glared at his Servant.

"Hmph. You may not know this. But you probably have some kind of distant relation to a magus bloodline. You have magic circuits in your body, however small or few they may be. How else could you have become my Master?" Caster closed one eye and raised his shoulders.

"I am your Master… and you are my Servant Caster…" Shirou pondered on the absurd pieces of information. He drew a heavy breath and looked Caster in the eye. "Then, why did you try to kill me, Caster?"

"That's right. Why did I?" Caster seemed to ask himself. He leaned back against his chair and stared up to the ceiling. "Perhaps because our chances of winning the war are too low?

"However I may look to you, I am not as strong as the other Servants in terms of raw firepower. My Class as Caster also restrains my abilities a bit. But most of all," he narrowed his eyes at Shirou. "my master is a child.

"I just didn't see the point of joining a losing war," he offered a half-truth.

Shirou couldn't deny the Servant's words. He really was just a kid who accidentally got roped into a ritual he had no clue of. "Well, _I'm sorry_. I didn't ask to be your Master. Why… didn't you just take that monster for a Master?"

Caster studied the angry look in his Master's eyes. "It doesn't work that way. Servants don't get to pick who they get summoned by. But during the summoning, you happened to be in the room and the ritual chose you as the better candidate."

Shirou raised his eyebrows at that. "Why would it do that?"

Caster held his hands up. "Who knows? The complexities of the Ritual escape me. But for what it's worth," he smirked at the boy. "you're a much better Master than that man."

Shirou looked away from the Servant's gaze and had another slice of pancake. He had been hesitant to admit it. But Caster's cooking was as good as his mother's. By chance or skill, the Servant had matched all the intricacies and little details of his mother's pancakes.

His thoughts quickly betrayed him, and he was painfully reminded of his mother's absence. "Caster, where are my parents?"

Caster's features darkened. "I put them to rest on their bed. They can at least have that comfort." He said quietly.

"I don't get it."

Caster looked at the boy intently. Tears were leaking out of his eyes, quickly falling down his cheeks and onto his plate.

"I don't get why they had to die like that. I don't get why any of this happening to me. This Holy Grail War. This world of magic. It's all so crazy." Shirou looked down, forcing himself to wear a broken smile.

"Hey, Caster. This Holy Grail War you mentioned. I don't really get how big or important it is to you magicians. But, what's the point? Why are seven Masters going to war? What are they fighting for?" Shirou asked delicately.

"The Holy Grail," Caster muttered stoically.

Shirou blinked confused.

"It's an all-powerful wish-granting artifact. The last surviving pair of Master and Servant become the winners of the war and have the chance of making a wish with the Grail."

"A wish…?"

"Yes, a wish. It can be anything. Fame, fortune, power. Anything your heart desires can be yours if you win the Holy Grail. For that reason alone, seven Heroic Spirits have answered the summons of seven magi." Caster explained.

Shirou widened his eyes. He gulped. "Then, with this Holy Grail, could I… bring back my family?"

Caster frowned. "You would have to beat the six other Masters and Servants. These are trained killers and epic heroes of old. Like I said, we have the lowest chances of winning."

"But it's… not impossible, right?"

"I suppose."

Caster got up from his seat and stared down at the boy.

"Master, earlier tonight I asked you if you wanted me to kill you," Caster placed his hands on the table. "After hearing everything I had to say, what is your answer now?"

"What will you do?"

Caster could not come to terms with killing the boy. So, instead, he would wait. He would observe what kind of fate the boy wished for himself. Caster laid out the options before his Master. He could run away. He could die by his Servant's hand. Or he could risk it all for an impossibly slim chance of winning the Grail War.

"I..."

Shirou felt his heart race again. His hands trembled like before, when he was forced to choose a parent to save. He was afraid of making the wrong decision again. But if there were a chance to save his parents, even if it meant endangering his worthless self.

"I just want my family back! So please," Shirou bowed so low, he banged his forehead at the table. Sweat and tears muddling his face, he raised his voice desperately. "Even if I'm an unreliable Master and a little kid who doesn't know anything about magic, please, **help me Caster**."

Caster stared at his younger self, Fujimaru Shirou, bowing his head before him in tears. What else could he say but, "As you wish, Master."

* * *

Author's Note:

Sorry about the delay. No action yet, too soon. Also, Shirou's too green and Caster's too low on prana for a full-fight right at the start. I'm sure I disappointed some of you who wanted action already, but meh.

Hopefully, the third chapter will come out faster and smoother than this one.

Thank you for reading.

 **Edit: The new cover image is some great work made by SUEUN uploaded on their Twitter account. I didn't exactly ask for permission since I don't know any Korean, but please credit the original creator.**


	3. The First Plan

Chapter 3: The First Plan

Caster had done it now.

Their contract as Master and Servant formalized, Caster could feel a distinct connection to the boy now. No longer was it just a flimsy path vaguely capable of transmitting thoughts. Now, he could actually read the boy's emotional state like a book.

At the moment, Shirou was overwhelmed with anxiety. The blazing seals of a winged dagger on his left hand unsettled him. They shone an otherworldly light, truly signifying his entrance into a foreign world, a dangerous warzone of magic.

"I've heard your wish," Caster crossed his arms. "Our contract is sealed and our entrance to the Holy Grail War officialized. I must warn you again however, the road you've chosen is a treacherous one. At any given moment, an Enemy Servant or Master could end our lives."

Caster raised his brows at the boy, measuring his resolve. "Furthermore, to bring back the dead, one must be willing to walk through the damned flames of hell themselves."

Fear gripped the boy's heart, the strain of its breaking emanated to Caster in waves. "But even still, will you be able to continue?"

His lips quivered, and his eyes were tear-stained. Nevertheless, Shirou nodded his head firmly. "Yes, I won't run away."

Caster frowned at that. He could feel the boy's fear as if they were his own. That was only natural in this situation. But beneath that fear, lied something more sinister and dangerous. A deep-seething desperation. From what Caster could see, the boy was already at the bottom of an abyss. There was nothing left to lose, only everything to gain. Like a feral beast pushed to the brink, the boy was willing to do whatever it took to win.

But he was still just a boy, Caster reminded himself. And as proof, he looked down to his hand. The edges of his fingers were slowly crumbling, bit by bit, into radiant blue dust. He concentrated, and his fingers solidified.

"I'll accept your resolve, boy, but I won't acknowledge you as my Master," Caster declared boldly.

"What?" Shirou instantly reacted, his arms raised defensively. "Does that mean you're gonna-"

"Relax. I'm not killing you." Caster cut him off and waved his hand, flicking specks of blue dust. "As you can plainly see, I'm falling apart at the seams here."

Shirou squinted at the stuff. "What _is_ that?"

"Prana," Caster said matter-of-factly. "Essentially magical energy. Servant bodies are made entirely out of it. Remember, Servants aren't like regular humans. Our bodies are constructs of magical energy designed to house a copy of our souls from the Throne of Heroes, the database of all Heroic Spirits."

Much of the jargon bounced off Shirou's head, but he somehow managed to catch the gist of it. "Then why are you breaking apart?"

"Because my Master is a complete novice in magecraft." Caster snorted. "Listen up, boy, Masters are supposed to supply their Servants with magical energy to sustain our existences. Without magical energy, we'd be powerless and simply fade away."

Caster pointed at the markings on Shirou's hand. "That's what those command seals signify as well, a connection between Master and Servant to facilitate prana transfer."

"Then the reason you're falling apart is… me?" Shirou blinked frowning.

"Put bluntly, yes. I'm currently receiving no prana from you whatsoever." Caster calmly replied.

Shirou banged his hands on the table, standing. Realization dawned on him. "Isn't that really bad?!"

Caster smirked. "Good to see you have some initiative, boy." He raised his shoulders casually. "True, in our current condition, any half-ass Servant with a rookie Master could take us down. I don't even have a fraction of my strength, so resistance would be impossible and we'd both die."

The man's voice was mockingly livid, but he did not smile. He slammed his palm on the table. "Knowing all this, you must understand why I cannot acknowledge you as my Master, right?"

Shirou frowned in silence. Grimacing, he wiped the snot and tears off his face, ashamed. "What do I have to do then?"

" _You_ don't have to do anything," Caster said, smirking on the side. "From here on out, _I'll_ be making all the decisions for the two of us. I'll plan every strategy and move we make. You just have to sit tight and obey my every word. As things stand with your ignorance about all things magecraft, you'd just be a hindrance. But if you submit to me, we might still have a shot at winning this war."

Shirou stared glumly at his pancakes, half-eaten and left cold on his plate. What his Servant was asking for was essentially his blind unquestioning obedience. He would have to forfeit the right to make up his own mind to a complete stranger.

"Caster…" He gulped. "Can I… trust you?"

He searched the man's eyes for any hint of reassurance. But there were none. Only cold calculative contemplation on a stoic face. From the Servant's demeanor, Shirou could tell that Caster regarded him as if he were just another troublesome variable in the grand scheme of things.

Silence filled the room as the night grew darker. Shirou continued to stare up at his Servant, waiting for an answer to his question. His muscles tensed. After all, this was the man who impassively killed a person before his eyes and who, only moments ago, threatened to take his life.

"I wonder," Caster breathed out a long sigh.

Shirou's heart tightened at the man's voice.

"Tell me, do I look trustworthy to you?" Caster smiled bitterly, before shaking his head. "No, I suppose not. You would have to be crazy to trust me blindly after seeing what I'm capable of."

They both found their gazes drifting back to the living room, the scene of Caster using his magecraft to mercilessly kill the wretched serial killer coming to their minds.

"I won't ask for the impossible and tell you to trust me completely. But you must understand, if you really want to bring back those who were taken from you, I am your _only_ option," Caster said with finality.

Shirou flinched at the harsh truth. He could not deny his powerlessness in the strange events to come. Tonight's tragedy was enough proof of his incompetence. Even now, his mom and dad's screams echoed in his heart.

"So," Caster spoke. "What will it be, Master?"

His stomach turned. Shirou never came to hate himself as much as he did then. "Okay," Shirou downed his hesitation. "I'll trust you, Caster."

"Very well-"

"But in exchange," Shirou looked at his Servant dead in the eye, willing as much confidence as he could onto his face. "Promise me. You'll do your best to win us the Grail."

"Hoh," Caster smiled wryly, almost impressed with his new Master. "I can promise you that much. Good to be working with you then, Master."

Shirou's eyes narrowed at Caster, finishing the last of his pancakes with a chomp. "Don't call me Master if you're not going to mean it. Just call me Shirou. Though, ugh, good to be working with you too."

"Hmm, Shirou it is then," Caster agreed, taking the boy's finished plate to the sink.

Shirou watched as Caster meticulously cleaned the plate. "So, what should we do now?"

"We're heading out as soon as possible. Pack your things and bring only the essentials. We're travelling light." Caster said

"Wait, what? Where are we going?" Shirou stood up frantically.

"We can't stay here. Like I said before, without any prana, I'm powerless. An enemy could come for us at any moment. We have to secure a prana source as soon as possible." Caster explained without blinking.

The Servant spoke as if prana were something you could go looking for. Shirou frowned. "When are we coming back then?"

Caster tilted his head, contemplating the boy's distraught words. "Perhaps after the war, if we're still alive then."

Shirou's eyes blanked and Caster saw there was apprehension in the boy. Asking a child to leave his childhood home was perhaps a drastic and abrupt measure, but it had to be done. It was their best choice for survival. He conveyed the seriousness of his words with an expectant stare.

Shirou twisted his frown into a knot. Already he was reminded of the terms of their agreement. He didn't like it, but he conceded.

"We leave in fifteen minutes, so pack quickly," Caster said, dismissing the conversation and leaving the room.

Shirou closed his fist and bolted for his room.

* * *

Perhaps Caster could've dealt with his Master more delicately.

But in his mind, he knew he couldn't lead the boy gingerly by the hand. He needed to be pushed in the right direction, by brute force if necessary. This was a Holy Grail War. There would be no place for warm sentimentality in the coming battles. Caster could dimly recall his own dealings with naivety in a Holy Grail War. They never ended well.

But still, another part of Caster reasoned, his Master, Shirou, was still just a boy. An innocent, defenseless child, perfect for killing.

Caster frowned at this wayward thought, and an equally displeased face frowned back at him.

He was presently in the parents' bedroom, frowning at this own reflection over a full-body mirror by the dresser. It was his first chance to properly examine his clothes.

For some reason, the Grail had prepared a body bearing his red mantle in one of its many alterations. Where the Archer class Servant in his memories had a mantle divided into two sleeves, he had a single mantle draped over his torso with the right sleeve missing and an added hood. Perhaps it was a manifestation of his summoning as a Caster?

Whatever the case was, Caster couldn't wear it outside tonight. The outfit alone was much too eye-catching, a dead giveaway of his status as a Servant. Tonight's journey was all about stealth and avoiding contact with the other Masters and Servants.

He closed his eyes and with a thought, dispelled his clothes in a burst of blue dust. He opened the parents' closet and picked out some clothes. His eyes brushed over the array of choices, but he ultimately decided on a formal black suit that read "Royal Brand" on the tag. They were the most practical of apparels for his desired functions. Combat ready and easy to reinforce. That black was ideal stealth colors at night was just an added bonus.

He changed into the suit with practiced grace. Miraculously, it came in his exact size. Almost as if it were tailor made to fit his body type. He glanced at his periphery, at the resting body of the man who could've once been his father.

Caster finished tying his tie and glanced back at the mirror. He clicked his tongue and ruffled his sleeked-back hair. He released his bangs, unfurling them over his forehead to obscure a small fraction of his face. The less people saw of him, the better. It also had the added effect of increasing his resemblance to his Master.

Caster didn't like it, but he would have to play the role of guardian. Shirou was much too young to be out on the streets of Fuyuki in the middle of the night without garnering some suspicion. So, Caster would have to walk alongside the boy, posing as a relative of some form.

Were it not for this task, he would simply stay in spirit form and not bother with normal clothes altogether.

He found a small gray duffel bag and packed it to the brim with spare clothes and the parents' wallets and keys. He cautiously glanced at the two bodies resting on the bed. He nodded his head solemnly. "I'll be borrowing a few things. I hope you can understand…"

No response, but then Caster hadn't been looking for one. He was plainly aware of the futility in the act, but he still felt he had to say it. A final respect to the people whose blood brought him into this world.

"The road from here on will be difficult, but watch over us, will you? Your son has a bad habit of acting like an idiot,"' he whispered self-deprecatingly.

Two pairs of closed eyes silently watched Caster leave the room. The last of the room's light leaving with the man's silhouette.

* * *

Shirou dived headfirst into his room digging for his underwear. He found a bunch of them neatly folded in his drawers. He grabbed a handful and stuffed them in his backpack, and then moved onto the next "essentials" for packing.

The boy's prioritization for packing undergarments was an influence from his parents.

Caster's words were a subject of arbitration. How light was "light"? And what exact properties did an "essential" object entail? These thoughts swirled at the back of Shirou's head, confounding him. He'd never been away from home for too long and whenever he had been, his parents had been either with him or did all the packing for him.

But of course, his parents were no longer here...

Shirou gritted his teeth and shook his head. He had to stay focused. Caster said he only had fifteen minutes to pack, a tall order for a seven-year-old boy on such short notice. Nevertheless, it had to be done.

He hadn't a clue where to start exactly, so he just kept on filling up his blue backpack with anything he thought he might need down the line. Scores of clothes, a notebook and pen, some snacks, and his old baseball.

The ball, though heavy, was compact enough as to not pose a problem. He reasoned it could serve as some form of last resort weapon. Among his age group, Shirou boasted an incredible accuracy with his baseball pitches. It was a mundane skill he picked up on the playground, but he thought it might help.

He turned around a full three-sixty-degrees, scanning his room for anything else that might prove useful. His eyes came to a halt at his bookshelf.

Tall and wooden, with five layers of space, it had been prepared by his parents in the hope that their son might grow to be a bookworm. Well, to Shirou's credit, he did keep a few of his textbooks on it, next to his much larger collection of shonen manga of course.

But Shirou wasn't staring at the manga, no, his gaze was fixed on the middle shelf. Unlike the other levels, this one held no books, but rather housed his collection of all things _Super Sentai_. Figurines of colorfully clad masked rangers lined the shelf. They spanned from several generations, from different seasons of the _Super Sentai_ television show.

They were his treasures, his models for admiration, his heroes.

Shirou approached the shelf sullenly.

The _Super Sentai_ show was a formulaic story of good vs evil, heroes vs villains. A scripted fantasy where justice and righteousness always triumphed. A reality that promised a happy ending for the hero that never gave up and always strove to save the day.

Like many other children his age, Shirou had been a boy enraptured with such lofty and noble ideals.

But now after tonight…

"Heroes of Justice," he muttered under his breath. He clenched his fists and snapped, "that's so stupid!"

A fiery cry screaming from his mouth, Shirou slapped all the figurines off their pedestals, sweeping his arms across the shelf like a raging wave. He grabbed the last one before it could fall. The Red Ranger, the leader of the heroes, the strongest of them all.

He snapped the toy in two and threw it across the room. The pathetic pieces of plastic sailed through the air. He watched with some primal pleasure at the sight of the destruction he wrought.

But through some twist of fate, the upper half of the ranger bounced back and landed a few feet away from him. Even in the dark room, the toy smiled unperturbed, still confident in victory.

Shirou felt mocked, and then he felt stupid for even caring about a dumb toy.

He looked at the mess he made on the floor and grew even angrier at himself. He kicked away the few figures that stood in his way and got back to his packing, his breathing still rough and shaken.

Getting another look at his bag, Shirou became sure he overpacked. He would have to adjust it before Caster chewed him out for bringing too much.

"I asked you to pack, not throw a tantrum and make a mess," a deep voice called out from behind his back.

Shirou turned around to find a sharply dressed Caster in coat and tie wear, sporting a new hairstyle, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He could vaguely recall his father once wearing that same suit.

"Sorry, I got carried away," Shirou excused himself and fixed his bag.

"I can see that," Caster said, observing the floor. He noted the large number of the toys on the floor. "What did they ever do to you?"

He grunted, too miffed for proper words. "Nothing. They were just stupid."

"Is that so?" Caster asked, not sounding quite convinced. "They look innocent to me."

"Same thing."

Caster smirked. He walked to the bookshelf and studied the boy's possessions. He noticed the topmost shelf had been left untouched. One item in particular caught his interest. He picked up the Red Ranger mask carefully.

"I take it you're a fan?"

"What does it matter? Aren't we leaving in five minutes?" Shirou grumbled.

"Two minutes actually. Your little temper tantrum cost you a few," Caster corrected. "But don't force yourself to hurry so much. I still have to inspect your bag."

Shirou stopped, he turned to face the Servant. "Then why did you tell me I had fifteen minutes?"

"How else was I supposed to get you moving?" Caster raised his shoulders. He studied the Red Ranger mask in his hands. "Besides, it's good practice to keep yourself on edge and alert during a war."

Shirou opened his mouth, wanting to yell at the man for tricking him. But ultimately, he knew he couldn't refute the wisdom in the Servant's words and closed his mouth. Instead, he focused on fixing his bag, without being too mindful of Caster's gaze. After a few minutes, he finished packing and presented his bag to Caster.

The man raised a brow at the baseball, but he didn't challenge it. There were a few adjustments to be made, but overall, his young Master did well in his packing. Though…

"That's a lot of underwear."

"Shut up."

Caster could feel the tickle of his Master's embarrassment, and he smiled.

* * *

The entrance hall was dimly lit. Shirou sat on the floor, tying his shoes for what maybe the last time in his house. He glanced at Caster leaning by the door, his arms folded and his eyes closed.

The Servant had inspected and organized Shirou's messy bag into a compact and efficient pack. Shirou currently wore the blue bag on his back with ease. He gazed up at Caster and stood up expectantly.

"I'm ready to go," Shirou grumbled impatiently.

"Just one moment," Caster replied, eyes still closed. He stood up straight and opened his palms. Blue lines of power ran down his arms and he whispered.

" _Trace on_."

In a flash of blue light, two daggers manifested in Caster's hands, one in the left and one in the right. However, the two blades were starkly different from each other. One was a regal dagger with an intricate design, lined with indecipherable letters. The other was a practical and sharp knife with minimal features. Both blades quietly emanated power.

Shirou immediately tensed in response.

Caster nodded. "Good response. You know danger when you see it." He proceeded to hide the blades within his jacket. "But you can relax, these aren't for physically hurting people."

"Then what _are_ they for?" Shirou scrunched his brows.

"They serve to help tonight's objectives, stealth and staking out the terrain." Caster answered cryptically. He fished something out of his duffel bag and presented it to Shirou. "Put this on."

Shirou glared at the face of the Red Ranger. Caster was holding out to him the mask made in the red hero's image, the one he had kept in his room.

"Why do you have that?"

"Does it matter? Just put it on." Caster rebuffed him.

He snatched the mask angrily. "Why do I have to wear this?"

"Same reason I'm carrying knives in my jacket. It's for stealth. The less people see your face, the better." Caster sighed. "You recall our deal, I trust?"

Shirou still stared hesitantly at the mask. "Why don't you just wear it instead?"

Caster snorted. "There's no way I could pull that off. I'm a grown man. You, on the other hand? You'd just look like a fanboy out late at night."

Shirou detected a hint of derision in Caster's words and narrowed his eyes. "Fine," he said, donning the mask, "but not one word about it along the way."

"As you wish, Shirou," Caster said, his tone respectfully pleasant. He turned to the door. "Let's go."

Shirou frowned behind the mask but followed his Servant. On his way out, he locked the door reverently. He took a few steps forward before turning his head back. He had one last look at home.

"I'm going now."

He whispered the words out of habit and then chased off after Caster.

They walked together at the peak of night. The black sky above them dyed in the colors of the streetlights, a myriad of blue and violet. A soft wind howled in the dreary silence of a sleeping town. Aside from that, the only sound that could be heard was the pace of their footsteps.

"There's no one outside." Shirou remarked.

"Well, it's midnight." Caster said.

Their pace was fast, but nonchalant, not quick enough to merit any hardness of breath or attract attention. Shirou looked around their path, trying to guess their destination.

"Where are we going?" He finally asked, giving in.

Though these streets were supposed to be familiar to Shirou, it was night. Everything was blanketed in shadow, warped into a realm of darkness.

Caster tilted his head and then closed his eyes.

"Shirou, from here on out, we communicate through telepathy," Caster's voice resounded in his mind, startling him.

Caster shook his head. "Keep calm and don't overreact. We have to act natural. You never know when prying eyes are watching."

"Got it…" Shirou replied with his mind, swallowing down the sheer absurdity of it all. Luckily, the mask he wore did well to hide his facial expressions. Though that only served to further fan his feelings of disdain for the darn thing.

Sensing the boy's discomfort, Caster glanced at the mask and smirked. No, he promised he wouldn't say a word, hadn't he?

"We're going to a Ley Line," Caster relayed through their mental connection.

"A Ley Line." Shirou repeated the words in his head.

"Yes, a Ley Line. Think of them as intangible lines on the Earth where ambient magic energy converges and flows in abundance," Caster explained. "If we can get to one, I can tap into the land's magical energy as a substitute for your inactive magic circuits."

Behind the mask, Shirou remained calm and impassive. "And that would be enough to keep you in one piece, Caster?"

"Exactly. The only problem is that because of the Holy Grail War, the Ley Lines of Fuyuki are probably strictly monitored by the Second Owner and the other Masters."

"Second Owner?"

"Think of them as the family in charge of keeping the magical side of things in this city at bay. Kind of like a landlord for all things supernatural," Caster explained as best as he could.

Shirou mentally nodded, stocking away anymore questions for future discussion.

"The Ley Line we're heading for is one of the strongest I can detect, so it'll be heavily guarded. We might actually have to face a few small fries to reach it safely," Caster said.

Shirou tensed. He glanced at Caster through the mask. "Can you win?"

"Who knows?" With hardly any concern in his voice, Caster just kept on walking casually. "Either way, if we don't tap into the Ley Line, I'd just fall apart on my own before I could get your magic circuits to work."

Sweat began to form over Shirou's face. The mask grew stuffy. He clenched his fists.

"Damned if we fail and damned if we don't. We're better off taking a chance at the Ley Line." Caster said, stopping abruptly in place.

Shirou stopped as well. He took another look at their surroundings. His memories slowly pieced the place together. Images of New Years and Festivals with his parents overlapped with the scenery.

Caster looked up to the rising form of a mountain. A temple perched at the top of a tall staircase.

This place was…

"Ryuudou Temple?" Shirou muttered, momentarily forgetting to speak with his mind.

Caster narrowed his eyes at the temple staircase, noting the near undetectable presence of familiars. He smirked. Just his luck.

"Are you feeling lucky tonight, Shirou?" Caster stepped forward, his footsteps heavy.

"Caster?" Uncertainty gripped Shirou's voice. He could instinctively tell that his Servant was preparing for something.

"Stay within a five-meter radius from me. Don't let your guard down at all times." Caster said telepathically.

The weight of the knives in his jacket took hold of him as he climbed up the stone steps. He didn't stop to even to consult things with his Master. This was the meaning of their earlier agreement. An utter disregard for the boy's say on the matter.

Shirou waited at the base, doubtful and uneasy. Even if Caster turned his back to the boy, he could imagine what kind of face he was wearing beneath that mask.

"Don't worry. It's just a simple gamble."

Caster stopped at the middle of steps. He scanned the entire vicinity within seconds, instantly finding his targets hidden behind the surrounding line of trees. Reconnaissance familiars, camouflaged to blend with the background. Without a discerning eye and a penchant for detection, they would've been impossible to find.

Luckily for Caster, these familiars weren't of the combat type, being strictly designed for stealth. However, that also meant that he now had an attentive audience watching his every move. And in any war, information on the enemy was tantamount, especially in the initial stages. He couldn't carelessly reveal a card too soon in the game.

But he also just couldn't leave them alone to spy on his every move, which is why the best thing Caster could do now was…

 _"Trace on."_

He whispered the words into the night. His magic circuits flared in an instant. He opened his left palm, raised it to the night sky, and smiled for the competition watching.

In a blinding flash of light, he fired a projected blade straight at all of the familiars at once, finishing them off instantly.

In their destruction, their final message to their masters would be one of Caster's might. One way or another, the familiars would have to be dealt with anyway. If Caster had appeared weak in front of them, that would invite a Servant to the temple. But if he ostentatiously displayed his abilities without fear, that would make them think twice of the risk.

It wasn't a foolproof strategy, Caster would admit. But it would have to do.

"Shirou, we're going up now." He called for his Master with their connection.

The boy climbed up the steps in a hurry, wondering just what was the point of all that.

As Caster waited for the boy, he gazed into the distance, at the town seen from the steps of a mountain. Most of the lights of the buildings were off, but he knew somewhere out there, his enemies were plotting. He only hoped he hadn't attracted a Servant's attention with that stunt.

* * *

And on the other side of town, inside a certain church, an old priest made a phone call in the middle of night.

The man only had to wait a few seconds before his call was answered by a gentleman's voice on the other line. "Good evening, Father Risei. I assume you call with news."

"Yes, Tokiomi," Risei breathed into the phone. "The seventh Servant Caster has finally been summoned."

A lighthearted chuckle escaped from Tokiomi's end. "I see. So it officially begins then."

Even at this time of night, the man's voice was calm and collected. The gears of his schemes in his mind began to turn in motion.

"Yes, with all seven Servants summoned, as the observer of the Holy Church, I hereby officially declare the start of the Fourth Holy Grail War."

Tokiomi smiled at his friend's penchant for dramatic words. "Hmm, thank you for your call, Father Risei. I'll have Kirei keep Assassin out to look for any sign of Caster's movements. The familiars around town as well." Tokiomi said.

"Good. I'll call you if any Masters show up at my door." Risei promised.

"My thanks, good bye then."

The call ended, and silence returned to the church. But then Risei knew this would be one of the last quiet nights before all hell broke loose.

* * *

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading.


	4. No Regrets

Chapter 4: No Regrets

Old man Ryuudou felt something astir. It was something of an acute gut feeling, honed from his years of experience living in the temple. It was only a slight rumbling in his stomach, about as feeble as an itch. Nevertheless, Ryuudou had trained himself through the years to develop this pseudo-sixth-sense to the point where he could pick it up in his sleep.

He got up from his futon and rubbed his eyes, muttering noises an old man would make. He checked the time on the wall clock. It was one o'clock in the evening and the lights were out, as they should be. He was tempted to return back into slumber but decided against it when the rumbling in his stomach grew stronger.

Something was definitely off. Ryuudou stretched his arms as he stood up and left his bedroom. The floorboards felt particularly cold to his bare feet as he inspected the living quarters of the temple first. His colleagues were all fast asleep. None of their lights were on. However, there was a slight shuffling of footsteps in one room.

He slid the door open and peaked into the room of his two sons. Reikan's stocky figure lying supine on his futon quickly came into vision. But noticeably, young Issei was fumbling with his glasses in the dark, standing.

"Issei, what are you doing up so late?" Ryuudou asked his son.

"I-I just felt a sudden chill down my spine, father. It woke me up," the boy timidly explained, perhaps embarrassed to be caught awake for such a reason.

Ryuudou considered all possibilities. Seeing the uneasiness in his youngest, perhaps his child also shared the same innate sixth sense he had?

"It was probably just a bad dream you had. Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep, son," he said warmly, patting the boy's head.

"Okay, thank you, father," Issei said before returning to his futon.

Ryuudou closed the door to his sons' room, now more certain of the disturbance he felt. He left to inspect the outside perimeter of the temple. He slipped into his sandals and left the temple.

Surveying the scenery, he found everything to be normal until he reached the main entrance.

He cocked his eyebrows. There, beneath the gate arch, a man dressed in a fine black suit stood waiting expectantly.

"You over there!" Ryuudou called out loudly. "What brings you to our temple in this hour?" He made his suspicion clear.

The man in the suit smiled and looked in Ryuudou's direction. There was a disarming elegance in the man's gesture. As if all of Ryuudou's suspicions were baseless.

"I apologize for intruding so late like this," the man wore a charming smile. "It's just that we have no place else to turn to."

We?

The man gestured with his hand to the space behind his left leg. And surely enough, there was a child clinging to the man's pants, hiding his face behind a mask. It looked like one of the superhero masks stalls sold in festivals. The child didn't look any older than his own Issei.

"This kid and I recently ran into a troublesome incident. We can't go back home, and we have no place to stay. If it were possible, could we stay here with you for a few days?" The man explained scratching his cheek.

Ryuudou scrunched his brows. "You understand our temple is not an inn, yes?"

"Of course," the man nodded and proceeded to lower his head. "I understand that what we're asking for is unreasonable. But please, if you could just grant us this kindness…" He bent his back into a ninety-degree bow.

Ryuudou sighed. He could feel his heart falling for the stranger's plight. But still, the rumbling of his gut warned him not to take the strangers so lightly. "You're not from around here?"

"No, sir."

The moment those words were spoken, a spell was cracked. Something about the whole situation suddenly smelled afoul. The rumbling of his stomach grew louder. For a moment, his spine chilled, detecting a danger.

"I come from a very faraway place. I'm only visiting for a few days. For the moment, I'm the acting guardian of this boy. We're relatives," The man hastily elaborated.

Suddenly, the unsettling feeling steadied and the charm returned. Ryuudou's sixth sense warned him of the possible danger of the strangers. However…

"As a monk, I cannot simply turn away people in such desperate need. Come, the two of you may stay with us for a few nights at least." He walked up to them. "Your names?"

"Thank you very much, sir. My name is Fujimaru Ritsu and this boy here is Fujimaru Shirou. You'll have to forgive the boy's shyness," Fujimaru said smiling.

Ryuudou glanced down and noticed the child was nodding his head. Wasn't he just a little too shy?

"Well, just call me Ryuudou. I am the head monk of this temple." He scratched the back of his head. "Let's see what we can do about getting you two a vacant room," saying so, Ryuudou led the two inside, stifling a yawn.

What a strange night.

* * *

Elsewhere, in the depths of an old western style home, a man walked through the shadowy corridors of his private quarters. He was dressed in an exquisite crimson suit. He carried with him a ruby-tipped cane in one hand. His other hand was kept busy, stroking delicately his prized goatee.

He was Tohsaka Tokiomi, the fifth head of the esteemed Tohsaka family, one of the three founding families of the Fuyuki Holy Grail War. On the back of his right hand, three marks of red signified his participation into the latest War, as the Master of Archer.

And as a Master, it was only prudent for him to be awake in the long hours of the night, the appointed time of combat. Nevertheless, it had only been a few hours since the last Servant had been summoned. The formal start of the war would most likely not occur this night.

But it never hurt to be prepared, which was why Tokiomi now stood before a door he rarely used. He dug into his pockets for the old key and entered the musty room. Once, his ancestors had used it to coordinate the management of Fuyuki's ley lines. But today, Tokiomi had recommissioned the room for the war effort.

Inside the newly dusted room was a table topped with several silver candlesticks. Tongues of flame burned atop the many candles. The lights of their fire gathered around a centerpiece, a large crystal ball crafted from ruby. Opposite the table of candlesticks was a stool where an old antique phonograph was placed.

Tokiomi whispered a few choice words and the phonograph's crank began to turn slowly. It was a modified piece of technology tweaked to suit the needs of magi. A communication device built for long distance contact between fellow magi.

Though it took time to warm up.

Tokiomi busied himself by studying the lit candles, the sole source of light in the dark room. Each candle's fire was linked to the state of a reconnaissance familiar patrolling the city of Fuyuki. If a familiar encountered anything of import, its corresponding candle fire would burn fiercely. And if anything unfortunate were to befall a familiar, then its candle fire would die out.

Presently, among the twenty-seven candles, one candle was dead, simply releasing a thin line of smoke.

Tokiomi frowned. And at the same time, phonograph made a clicking sound. It was ready.

"Kirei, are you there?" Tokiomi asked aloud for his apprentice.

From the phonograph, a voice answered. "I'm here, my master."

"One of the familiars has been destroyed. I'm checking its last feed right now," Tokiomi spoke, placing his free hand over the crystal ball. "Have you observed anything on your end?"

"Yes, the Assassin I had posted at the temple was attacked by what appears to be an enemy magus," Kirei said.

"What?" Tokiomi furrowed his brows as an image was shown within the crystal ball. The last recordings of the familiar showed a man dressed in black firing an attack straight into the familiar, then static. The feed was shaky, but it appeared to be some kind of beam attack.

"Another Master? Caster's perhaps?" Tokiomi guessed.

"That would be the likely conclusion. I had Assassin retreat for the moment from the temple. It would not do for our plans if Assassin is eliminated in a place outside of our control," Kirei reasoned.

"I agree. Did Assassin sustain any damage?"

"Only light ones that have healed."

"Then keep that Assassin posted around the temple but have him double his concealment efforts." Tokiomi stroked his goatee. "As things stand, we know too little about this Master. There's too much risk in engaging. But we can at least keep track of him."

"As you wish, my master."

With the conversation over, the phonograph clicked again and Tokiomi was alone.

He studied the feed once again, trying to discern as much information as he could. The man had white hair and tan skin which stood out. But his hands were gloved, so no command seals could be seen. But for a magus to waltz into Ryuudou Temple on the same night of Caster's summoning, it was too much to be just pure coincidence.

But then that posed the question, why did Caster's Master seek out Ryuudou Temple immediately after his summoning his Servant?

A few answers popped in Tokiomi's head, none of them good. Leaving a Caster at large in the temple reeked of trouble.

* * *

Shirou was in the midst of utter darkness. No light existed in this world. Only the cold whispers of the shadows kept him company.

 _You… chose… wrong… HERO!_

The boy's eyes burst open. Shirou sat up alarmed, rasping. His eyes darted across the room. Unfamiliar. Dark. Empty. Alone. Utterly alone.

He placed a hand over his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart. A constant acceleration with no sign of stopping. He felt like it could burst through his ribcage at any moment. He had to calm down. He took deep breaths. He focused his mind. By chance, he noticed the command seals on his left hand and fixated on them.

He stared at the strange red symbols, reminding himself of the night's events. This was real. He wasn't at home anymore. He was here in Ryuudou Temple, in a spare bedroom provided for him by the head monk. Caster had gone to conduct some business about an hour ago, instructing Shirou to stay put in their room.

That's what transpired. He had no say on the matter except to agree.

In waiting, Shirou had thought it best to try and catch some shut-eye. But it was all futile.

The futon provided for his use was comfortable enough, but the problem lied within. When he closed his eyes long enough, when he was on the cusp of sleep, as Shirou fell into darkness, he would hear _that man's_ voice. A sickening cackle from the dark

 _You chose wrong, HERO!_

He grimaced. He could never forget those words. They were the last words his parents heard before they were killed. Those four words that stood for the Shirou's greatest failure. Perhaps it was his punishment for failing, but the memory would not let him rest.

"I-I did this." Shirou stared at his Command Seals. "I… made t-the mistake."

 _But even still… will you be able to continue?_

It was another person's voice. This one more stern and sharp than the last, but underneath, something almost like warmth.

Shirou gritted his teeth, forcing himself to calm down. He swallowed a gulp of air and forced it down. He knew what he had to do now.

He slipped out of the futon and got up. He put the Super Sentai Mask on and quietly exited the room.

The corridors were dark but straightforward. Shirou didn't know exactly where his Servant had gone but from what Caster had said before he took off, he knew he had to go outside. So, he found the nearest exit and left the temple building.

Whatever business Caster was taking care of, Shirou knew the Servant would most likely be operating behind cover. The temple courtyard was expectedly empty. The back gate however, looked like it had recently been opened. The fallen leaves around that area had been swept away.

Shirou hesitated, for a second, but then moved. He slipped out of the temple and into the mountain wilds. What lied on the other side of the wall was a vast lake and tranquil grassland. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting everything in a blue light.

Still, no Caster in sight. But something in Shirou told him he was in the right place. He trod through the mountain path, crossing a bridge over the water.

Then, his nose wrinkled. A strange scent was in the air. Like the heavy smell of iron. Metallic.

Shirou traced the direction of the smell, and saw, on the ground, signs of footsteps. He narrowed his eyes and followed.

* * *

The caverns beneath Mount Enzo were deep. And like all caves, the deeper one went, the darker it grew. Past a certain point, even the dirt beneath one's feet disappeared. Sight would abandon you and darkness would devour you. It took a will of iron to soldier through the ever-encroaching despair, to conquer the primal fear of what lay in the dark.

But what awaited you at the end of that road was the treasured miracle.

At the heart of the caverns was a plateau, raised above the rest of the dirt like a stage. A large and complex magic circle was carved onto the stage. The miracle left behind by the hands of magi from centuries ago. Heaven's Feel.

A symbol of Hope. The Holy Grail was set to manifest onto that stage. The Greater Grail to connect to the Root of all creation.

But Caster knew that was all a sham now.

That's why he stood before the stage so stoically, gazing dispassionately at the coveted prize.

"If only I could destroy it…" Caster murmured.

He knew the ritual formula for the Holy Grail War was beyond him. Even manifesting in the Caster class, his knowledge of magecraft still did not exceed his field of specialty. Done poorly, any tampering with the Greater Grail could potentially wipe Fuyuki off the map.

Perhaps if he were summoned as a Counter Guardian, such a risk would be labeled as mere collateral damage. But luckily enough, he was not here as a Counter Guardian, only as a Servant of the Holy Grail War.

He cleared his mind and returned to his work.

He had just finished clearing a plot of land in the Grail Chamber. Rubble from stalagmites he had destroyed littered the floor. Caster needed to tap into the land's magic vein and to do that, he had traveled to the heart of the Ley Line itself.

A more proficient Caster could have probably established a link from the temple grounds. But for Caster who was nothing more than a mediocre magus in life, that was impossible. Instead, his methods had to be a bit more direct. The gist of the matter came down to planting a mana-sucking projection deep enough into the Ley line and then maintaining that projection for the entire duration of the war.

It was quite straightforward.

Caster planted four daggers into the ground, marking the four corners of the whole chamber. The square space was vast, even encompassing the "Stage" for the Greater Grail. But so long as he wasn't standing on the stage itself, it should be fine.

"Trace on."

His circuits activated, and he set about using one of the special skills granted to the Caster class, Territory Creation. The quality of this skill varied with the Heroic Spirit's nature, but for Caster who had spent his entire life perfecting a single specific spell, the skill was on a level of its own.

" _I am the bone of my sword…_ "

Blue cracks of light emerged beneath his feet.

" _Unknown to death, nor known to life…_ "

The air was supercharged with his magical energy.

"… _Unlimited Blade Works."_

The will of the world overturned, and the space marked by four daggers erupted with ethereal flames.

Caster did not summon his Reality Marble. The Holy Grail's Stage which was left intact within the space was proof enough. There were also no gigantic gears hovering above, nor were there countless swords littering the ground.

No, what Caster had done was something allowable only thanks to his class skill. Territory Creation is usually associated with the setting up of one's workshop or temple. But for Caster, this skill translated into the manifestation of his Reality Marble's conditions.

He had cordoned off a portion of space as his own. Separate from the pesky rules and influences of Gaia, the space was Caster's alone.

"Trace on," he said, raising his arm. A projection of a mana-sucking sword floated over his hand. He had created that sword on one of his missions to defeat a certain enemy. But now, it would serve as his foothold in the Grail War.

The sword was embedded into the dirt and immediately Caster felt its effects. His magical reserves were filling up steadily. With the newfound energy, he traced several more copies and planted them beside the first sword.

He couldn't be too greedy though. Any reckless consumption on his part would be felt by the townspeople of Fuyuki. If he exhausted the land's reserves too quickly, the flow of magical energy would be strong enough to drag along the energy of any nearby humans, resulting to exhaustion or even death for the victim.

He didn't need the Second Owner's attention just yet.

Just as Caster was finishing things up, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

He peered into the darkness with his reinforced eyes and smirked.

"I thought I told you to wait in your room like a good little boy."

The sound grew closer and the boy who had summoned him entered the chamber.

"Caster, we need to talk."

* * *

"So? Let's hear it." Caster released a sigh of exasperation. "Why did you disobey my orders?"

The "Servant" stared at the "Master". The distance between the two was great, but the echoes of the cave served to deliver their voices across. They both stood their grounds, facing each other in direct opposition.

"I couldn't sleep," Shirou said blankly.

"I suppose you couldn't." Caster clicked his tongue. "But that doesn't answer my question. Why are you here? If you couldn't sleep, you could've waited in the room-"

"I don't want to."

Caster blanked. His eye brows lifting, he asked. "What did you-"

"I said I don't want to!" Shirou said, louder this time. "I don't want to wait patiently in my room not knowing anything. I can't do it."

"Can't? Or won't? We made a deal, if you remember," Caster said, approaching the boy. "I make all the decisions and you just have to obey."

Caster stood right in front of Shirou now, staring down at him. The boy's figure looked puny when put against Caster's, barely even reaching the Servant's waist.

"Go back to your room and wait."

Shirou had his head down, staring at the tips of Caster's leather shoes. He could literally feel his Servant's domineering stance, an unseen oppressive force telling him to back down.

"You don't have to do anything from now on. You just have to listen and do what your told. Nothing more, nothing less. It's the only way for you to win, the only way for you to save your parents," Caster whispered harshly.

A part of Shirou saw the logic in his Servant's words. Indeed. It probably would've been better if he just did as he was told. If he remained in that room, waiting for Caster's next command. Just let the Servant decide everything. That was the most logical way to do it.

"I can't do it," he murmured feebly.

"What?" Caster gawked.

But another part of Shirou couldn't sit idly by. Not when everything was on the line. He looked up to meet the eyes of his Servant.

"I can't do it, Caster." His resolve strengthened. "I can't just sit by clueless while you run around doing who knows what. I want to know. I want a hand on the controls too."

"Are you saying you don't trust me? I told you-"

"It's not just that!" Shirou cried. "I don't know you Caster. So, I can't be sure. If you're wrong or right, if you're gonna make a mistake or not, I don't know. But people make mistakes. Everyone does. Even superheroes."

Caster guffawed at the childish comparison. His frown tightened. "What do you want then?"

"I want you to listen to me, just like I'll listen to you. If I don't know something, I want you to tell me. If I don't like your plan, I want you to consider my feelings," Shirou said, boisterous.

"Hmph," Caster shook his head. He turned his back and walked away. "So, you're beginning to sound like a Master?"

Shirou's eyes followed Caster, not letting him out of his sight.

His footsteps were heavy. The sound of crunching earth echoed across the chamber. Caster stopped when he stood before the stage, his back turned so Shirou couldn't see what kind of expression he wore.

Suddenly, Shirou felt something cold slide over his left cheek and heard the ring of metal striking stone. There was a brief moment of bewilderment, before pain stung his face. He fell to his knees, clutching his cheek. He felt a scalding burn followed by the heat of his blood.

"Ngh!" Shirou gritted his teeth. Glancing behind him, he saw the shape of a knife stabbed into the ground.

"If you can no longer listen to reason and just want to make childish demands," Caster said. The shadows of the chamber casted a sinister shade over his eyes. "Then I'll have to use more forceful means."

Shirou widened his eyes. He dived to the left, rolling on the rough cave floor, seconds before a dozen swords struck the spot where he was previously.

"Know your place, boy."

His muscles tensed again and this time he caught sight of it. The myriad swords forming over Caster's outstretched arm. They launched straight into him. He had to roll again, skidding off rough rock, grunting.

"These swords won't kill you, but they will pin you down at least. A few stab wounds can be easily fixed," Caster said. He simply stood in place, not even bothering to move.

"Caster…!" Shirou glared at his Servant.

The man simply smirked. "Don't look at me like that. With this, you must understand, right? Servants aren't something you can stand on equal footing with. And not every Master has the right of being of a Servant's Master. Especially not you, Shirou."

Caster absentmindedly stared at his empty hand. Blue magical energy particles gathering over his palm. "A child who's only known about magecraft for less than twenty-four hours, with zero experience or training. Commanding a Servant? Don't make me laugh."

His expression was cold and unreadable. Displeasure scrawled clear over his face. Shirou knew the man's words were right, but that didn't mean he liked them. "Then teach me! Teach me magic or magecraft or whatever. Teach me how to fight!"

Caster frowned even harder. "I said don't make me laugh." He clenched his fist and the magic particles solidified into another sword in his hand. He threw it expertly at Shirou.

This time, the blade came too quickly. Shirou didn't even have the time to breathe, let alone dodge. He could only brace himself for the incoming pain, closing his eyes.

There was a loud ripping sound and a hard thud rocked Shirou's back.

He opened his eyes and suddenly Caster was far away. Had he jumped back in that instant? A quick observation of his surroundings shot that idea down. His shirt was torn stretched, a portion of it was nailed into cave wall. The sword must have pushed him back and pinned him down.

He wriggled desperately, eager to free himself. But the sword was firmly planted into the wall and his clothes were more durable than he thought.

Caster leisurely walked towards him. His face bereft of any humanly emotions. His eyes coldly looked down on the little boy struggling against the wall. "Give up. Any more than this would be just unsightly bullying even I wouldn't be able to stomach."

Shirou frantically tried to free himself in vain. In a matter of seconds, Caster had arrived before him. The Servant crouched down and pulled his Master's hair up, bringing their eyes to level.

"Stop struggling so pointlessly. If you listen to me, even a kid like you might get the Grail, y'know? "

The steel-colored eyes of a hardened man stared into the golden amber eyes of a child. The depth of those eyes took hold of Shirou. How much pain must have they witnessed? Perhaps it was truly the right choice to leave everything in Caster's hands?

But in the depths of those eyes, Shirou saw something dark. The image of his parents' lifeless corpses. The ecstatic last look of their murderer.

Shirou stilled, no longer wriggling to be set free, allowing himself to be held in place by the sword.

"That's good. Don't do anything. Just leave everything to me."

Caster said, a pleased look spreading over his face.

But then a burst of pain struck square in the face.

A collision with a stubborn skull. The head-on impact of skulls. A headbutt.

In his assurance of victory, Caster had for a moment let his guard down, even bringing his face before the boy as an easy target.

Shirou capitalized on that brief window of opportunity. In a snap, he tore his shirt off the knife. He would've liked to take the knife for a weapon, but it was too solidly planted into the wall. So, he had to make do.

He closed the distance between them and threw everything he had into one solid punch at Caster's cheek.

The force of the unexpected punch pushed Caster back. He cursed himself internally for being so stupid as to leave an opening.

Shirou stood his ground, glaring ferociously at Caster. "I will not blindly obey you. Even if you're right now, that doesn't mean you'll always be right. I am not your puppet. I am alive! If I listen to everything you say and don't decide for myself, how is that any different from being dead!"

His roar bounced off the walls of the chamber, furthering the force of his momentum. Caster had to reevaluate the backbone of the boy known as Fujimaru Shirou. Staring at the child's defiant expression ignited an old feeling in his chest.

He recalled the many missions he was forced into as an agent of the Counter Force. The countless times he was instructed to slaughter mankind to save mankind. He recalled his first feelings of repulsion at the task. He recalled how after a hundred or so missions, he regretted his decisions in life. The mistake of pursuing the path of a Hero of Justice.

And here before Caster, a young Fujimaru Shirou demanded the right to choose his own decisions as a living human being.

The right to choose. Something a Counter Guardian, the undead servant of Alaya's will, had no right to.

If this boy were to choose his own life, Caster wondered if he would also arrive at the same Hill of Swords. Or perhaps, someplace else, a destination even beyond the footprints of Caster's own life.

Caster smirked, wiping the dirt off his cheek. "Fine, you win, Shirou."

The boy blinked. His stance loosened. His expression still unbelieving of Caster's words.

"You want a say on how we do this Holy Grail War? You even want me to train you? You want your own life? Fine." Caster shook his head in defeat. "But no regrets, got it?"

Shirou eagerly nodded his head in agreement. "No regrets."

No regrets. Indeed, Caster already had a lifetime's worth of those.

* * *

Author's Note:

I've decided to give up on perfection and just embrace my current faults. This story will not be perfect. It will deviate from canon and bend a few rules. But if Type Moon can give Sigurd glasses, I can make Caster EMIYA create a bounded field with the same properties as his Reality Marble. The field is self-sufficient, the sword's sucking up Mana from the Ley Line and maintaining it. The energy is also passed on to Caster, so Shirou is no longer useful as a source of mana. Right now, he's just the physical anchor keeping Caster on Earth. Much like Souichiro and Medea of Fate/Stay Night.

Well, disappointments aside, I won't make excuses.

Thank you for reading.


	5. No Lie Uttered

Chapter 5: No Lie Uttered

Surrounding the grand stone staircase of Ryuudou Temple was the vast sea of trees of Mount Enzo. A testament of the mountain's rich natural history, the trees were diligently taken care of by the monks. Old trees were regularly cut down to give room for new saplings and occasionally, congested tree branches were pruned to allow sunlight to reach the smaller plants. It was a true marvel of nature nurtured by human hands.

Hidden under the shadow of one of these trees was the bleeding carcass of a white mouse. The deceased rodent lied on its back. Its blood and innards spread out over the grass, attracting the attention of passing flies.

Such a sight wasn't unusual in the wild. As part of the great food web of life, animals died all the time. A single dead rodent was commonplace.

But what stood out was the manner in which the rodent had died. Its body bisected cleanly in the middle. Its two halves evenly divided. No wild animal had the ability to cut a tiny rodent with so much precision.

It had likely never expected to die in such an absurd manner. On each half its body, the creature's wide-open red eyes stared into the heavens, listless and askance. They never saw it coming.

"What the hell was that?" A young man shrieked into his pillow, gripping it tightly. He banged his fists against the mattress, sending a shiver of a harmless tantrum through the bed-frame.

"The camouflage spell on my familiar was flawless! Even compared to those snooty aristocrats at the Clock Tower, my spells should have still been top tier!" He wailed incessantly, complaining to whatever God oversaw this world's turning.

Waver Velvet was a young man in the middle of a dilemma. Shunned and shamed by his peers in the Clock Tower for coming from a newly born lineage of mages, Waver had staked everything on the line and left school to enter the Holy Grail War, seeking glory and respect.

He had coincidentally intercepted the catalyst prepared by his least liked professor. The catalyst hadn't been very impressive, a mere dingy piece of cloth that must have once been dyed red. But Waver had figured that if one of the prestigious lords of the Clock Tower had sought it out, it must surely had been connected to some famous hero of legend. Waver took the catalyst for himself. He took a leave of absence from the Clock Tower and quickly hopped on a plane to Japan.

One thing led to another, and after one disturbing midnight ritual involving the slaughter and bloodshed of three innocent chickens in the woods, Waver was here. In an averagely spaced, western-styled bedroom in some old couple's house in Fuyuki City, Japan. He had easily brainwashed his way into the household, convincing the couple that he was a visiting grandson. He had the bedroom all to himself up until the aforementioned ritual of chicken blood.

Waver now shared the room with his newly summoned Servant. A massive Macedonian giant of bronze muscle and leather armor. His class was Rider, but he called himself Iskandar, the King of Conquerors, better known to the world as Alexander the Great.

Waver had been ecstatic at the thought of summoning Alexander the Great. The Holy Grail was as good as won, he had thought. But now…

"Rider, what do you think about that guy?" Waver glared at the carefree figure of his Servant.

A large burly man with red fiery hair laid sprawled over the floor. His bulky body dressed in brown leather garments and his face consumed in the contents of a history book. "I see, I see. The Byzantine Empire fell in 1453 to the Ottomans." Rider stroked his chin gingerly.

Clenching his fist and holding back a curse, Waver spoke with a sharper tone. "Rider! I'm talking to you."

"Hmm…" Rider hummed to himself. "This Mehmed the Conqueror fellow sounds like he might have made a worthy adversary. It says he here he was a conqueror himself, I wonder if he would have considered becoming a vassal of mine. I am the King of Conquerors after all…"

Waver gritted his teeth. His irritation boiling. "Pay attention to your Master, you big oaf!" He demanded, throwing the closest thing he had at the inattentive Servant. It was a thick leather-bound textbook. Rider had ransacked a bookstore the night before so there were quite a few books laid scattered about the bedroom.

The thrown book sailed across the room, spinning, its pages unfurling chaotically. Rider had his back turned to Waver so he shouldn't have known the book's trajectory. Any regular individual would have suffered a blow to the head, but Rider defied the norm and caught the book through sheer instinct. It came to a perfect halt in his hands, opening to a random page in the middle.

"Oh," Rider blinked, browsing through the new text. "This one covers the Hittite Empire, eh? They were before my time, but I have heard of their empire's exploits. Good eye, boy." He praised Waver sincerely.

It was the first words of recognition Rider had given Waver all night, but it only further stirred the boy's discontent. "Never mind the bloody Hittites. Rider, what do you think of that smug new Master at the temple steps?" Waver prodded.

"The bloody Hittites?" Rider grumbled, indignant. "Those bloody Hittites were the only empire equal to the might of Egypt during their prime. They were a mighty foe. Why, Ramses II ended his battle with Muwatalli II in a draw! It says here that Ramses had to settle with a treaty of brotherhood with the Hittite King." Rider read from a random page of the book.

Waver only shook his head, his nerves throbbing. "Why are you rambling on about some dead empire?"

"Weren't you the one who threw me the book, boy?" Rider waved said book in question. "I thought you wanted me to read you a bedtime story or something."

"Don't tease me. I am not a child, Rider!" Waver cried indignantly. His stomach turned at the mere thought of being looked down on.

"Heh, you've yet to prove that in battle, boy." Rider heartily laughed. "Perhaps if you joined me on a conquest in my chariot, my impression of you would better?"

To Rider's hearty laughter, Waver quieted down. He knew his Servant wasn't joking and he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of riding into battle on Rider's bloody chariot.

Rider took the boy's silence as an end to the matter. He set the Hittite book down and returned to his previous read about the Byzantines, ignoring Waver once more.

"Ah, fine! Be that way." Waver forcefully lied down on his bed. He glared up at the stains on the ceiling. His thoughts drifted back to the familiar's final feed. He thought aloud to himself.

"That guy had some really distinct features. His hair was white, and his skin was so tanned. His height makes me think he wasn't Japanese… He was also wearing a suit in the middle of the night.

"But that look he had. He stopped walking up the steps and actually grinned at the familiar right before he destroyed it with that strange energy beam. Revealing his magecraft like that, what a show-off," Waver said, ticked.

"Oh?" A spark of interest caught Rider. "A flaunting of power this early?" He asked, looking up from his book. "He sounds confident. Did you notice anything else strange about this magus?"

Waver frowned. "Hmm… it was kind of dark, so I couldn't see much. I don't even know what kind of magecraft he used to destroy the familiar-"

"Fool!"

A thick brown finger flicked at Waver's forehead, sending him into a world of pain. "You speak of scouting the enemy, but you failed to even properly observe him?" Rider's boisterous rebuke reverberated in Waver's head.

Waver yelped, rubbing the new throbbing bruise. When had Rider reached the bed? It took everything he had not to start tearing up. Waver didn't dare look any more weak in front of his Servant.

Rider sighed at the boy's shaken face. He took a seat back on the floor. "Did you not see anything else of worth noting?" Rider asked.

"Ughh…" Waver groaned, still in pain. "Um… There was a kid with him?"

"A kid?"

"Yeah, a boy I think." Waver nodded. "He had a toy mask on so I couldn't see his face, but he didn't look very old. He was tagging along with the magus."

"Hmm… a child tag-along." Rider mused.

"Does that mean anything?"

"Could be. Vassals come in all shapes and sizes. It wouldn't be strange for the boy to be some Assassin in disguise either," Rider joked, his voice jolly.

"You don't even sound worried." Waver narrowed his eyes at the Servant. Was that excitement in Rider's eyes?

"Hmph. Who do you take me for, boy? Assassins would never stand a chance against me!"

Waver raised a brow at Rider's boundless confidence. The sheer size of the man's ego rubbed against him in the wrong way.

"Oh? That look on your face tells me you need a reminder of my power. Shall I show you once more?" Rider grinned like a schoolboy eager to show off his new toy. He merrily drew his sword. Its metal blade sparked with electricity.

"A-ah, wait, Rider! Not in the house! Not in the house!" Waver screamed, reaching out his arms to stop his laughing Servant.

He was only a second too late and the room exploded in light.

* * *

Shirou opened his eyes slowly. Dried-up tears over his eyes made him feel sticky. He felt a cold coarse surface behind his back. He peered his eyes through the darkness. Jagged daggers of earth, stalactites, hung over his head. Haphazardly, he thought, if those things fell down, then he would surely die. The thought of death shook his heart, but he remained still. Or rather, he couldn't move. He was paralyzed.

"What… is this place?" He released a grunt as he tried to pick himself up. All in vain though.

"Hmph, pathetic." A short snort responded to the boy's struggle.

Shirou felt the sarcasm in the air and traced it to the source. He glanced to his left, and there, just within in his peripheral vision, was a man in a black suit leaning against the cave wall. His signature white hair standing out in the darkness. His arms were folded loftily.

"Caster…" Shirou managed to mutter. "What happened…?"

"You collapsed, Master." Caster answered with a shake of his head. "For all your bluster of wanting a hand on the wheel, you ran out of steam quite easily."

Shirou blanked. A numbing sensation waved over his entire body. Caster shook his head once more at the boy.

"That look tells me you don't quite get it." Caster stood up straight and approached him. He stared down at him helplessly. "You were caught up with your emotions and doped up on endorphins, so you gave it your all just to face me. Honestly, I would call you brave if you weren't so foolish."

"What?" Shirou furrowed his brows.

Caster crouched down so they were face to face. He flicked the boy's forehead. Shirou flinched at the sudden attack. "Hey!" He wanted to rub his forehead, but he couldn't even raise his arms off the ground.

"If we're going to be Master and Servant, we'll need rules. And rule number one will be, 'Don't charge ahead at a Servant like an idiot'." Caster frowned sourly. "Only foolhardy idiots with a death wish would blindly face a Servant without even knowing anything. If we're going to win, we'll have to fight smart. Understand?"

"Yeah, I get it." Shirou averted his gaze to the side. A tinge of red colored his face. He knew he'd been reckless to stand up to Caster, but to think he'd actually collapse…

"Well, I suppose it wasn't entirely your fault this time. We can chalk it up to your exhaustion from your prior stress and extenuating circumstances. Anyone would have broken down after what you've been through tonight." Caster said seriously.

Shirou's heart dropped. He remembered why he couldn't sleep. Caster's words were true. He'd been through a hell of a night and he's had barely a wink of sleep. It wouldn't be strange for him to drop dead tired at any minute. The fight had just been the final straw.

Caster frowned at the boy's dark face. A child shouldn't have to wear such a serious look. It bothered him more than he would like to admit. Before he realized it, he had already placed a hand over the boy's head.

The sudden contact surprised the two of them. Shirou's eyes widened and Caster blanked, his mouth agape.

Caster's first instinct was to pull away, but he felt something delicate from the emotional connection of their contract as Master and Servant. He hesitated for a few seconds before sighing. He started the action, right? He might as well follow through.

Caster ruffled Shirou's hair, shaking off the dirt caught between his hairs. "You sure are a handful, Master. Didn't I ask you to blindly obey my every word earlier tonight? I left you alone for a few hours and you come me barking at me for a say in things."

Hearing these words, Shirou felt a tinge of embarrassment. His actions sounded childish when Caster put it that way. "I changed my mind, okay? Got a problem with it, Caster?"

The boy had guts. Caster would admit that. Not many seven-year-olds could boast the fact they stood up against a Servant. But that was it. The only thing Fujimaru Shirou had right now was guts. There was no backbone to his strength, no proper direction for his fire to burn. Caster had hardly felt Shirou's punch, in spite of all of the boy's efforts.

What the boy needed right now was guidance. Someone to point him in the right direction.

"You asked what this place was, right?" Caster stood up, lifting his hand from the boy's head. "Everything you see here can be described as the center of Fuyuki's Ley Lines."

Shirou craned his head to see where Caster was looking. At the center of the room was a circular raised platform. The ground over it emitted a soft light. "That over there is what the mages call 'The Greater Grail'. It's the ultimate prize at the end of the Holy Grail War."

"Grail…? But that doesn't look like a grail…" Shirou said weakly, still tired.

"No, it doesn't. It's just the ritual formula for summoning the actual Grail. Once enough Servants have been defeated, the Grail will manifest. This cave is just one of the few places where it could be summoned." Caster continued, nodding his head towards the swords stabbed into the dirt. "There are other places where the Grail can be summoned but this place is the most ideal."

Shirou glanced at swords at the edge of his peripheral vision. Caster had left them on the ground. They thrummed quietly, never ceasing for a minute. A light blue aura shone around them. The swords infused the air with energy in waves. "The prana in this room…"

"Yes, that's why." Caster nodded. "This is where all of Fuyuki's Ley Lines converge. The source of all the land's magical energy. All the other potential Grail locations are just small branch lines sprouted from the great taproot here in Mount Enzo."

Caster smirked. "This place is so ridiculously rich in magical energy that I'm even using it to keep myself alive right now."

"Caster?" Shirou asked, a bit worried.

"Your magic circuits are still dormant after all." Caster gave him a wry look. "I'm currently plugged into Fuyuki's Ley Lines through these swords. You can think of me like an electronic device plugged into the city's power lines. Huh, I'm no better than a machine." He smiled self-derisively at his last words, like it were some inside joke.

Shirou frowned. He could understand Caster's words, but he didn't care for his self-deprecating humor. "Then those knives from before were also special like those swords?"

Caster tilted his head, eyeing his projections. He opened his coat and pulled out a pair of knives. "You mean these? I might as well tell you about them if you're curious but remember to keep this to yourself."

Shirou nodded. They had just recently come to an agreement of mutually informed decision-making. Caster honored the deal.

"My magecraft largely consists of projecting swords. These knives were projected for specific purposes. The first one once belonged to a king who used it to hide himself among crowds. It makes for a seamless camouflage, perfect for going out undetected at night." Caster hefted the ornate dagger in gold trimmings. "This second knife once belonged to a serial killer. He always carried it on his person as he sneaked into people's houses before his kills." Caster spun the plain knife in his hand.

The sharp glint of its blade sent a chill down's Shirou's spine. The knife of a serial killer unsettled his nerves.

"Then earlier, back then at the Temple Gate, you used it?" Shirou asked.

Caster nodded. "To get us an invitation inside, yes. The knife planted a subliminal suggestion inside that monk's mind to let us stay for the time being. It's a lingering effect of the serial killer's concept of charisma which allowed him entrance to all his victim's houses. Though the knife has its limitations as well that are dictated by the dogmas of its original owner."

"Such as?"

Caster blinked, he glanced at the blade in his hand. "Hm, according to the knife's history, the serial killer never once uttered any lies to trick people, only halfhearted truths. He only ever spoke a falsehood when his charade was over, and he went for the kill. Likewise, the wielder of this knife must never utter a lie when applying the charisma charm or else…"

He tightened his grip around the serial killer's knife and mouthed a lie so quiet that not even Shirou could even hear it. As if in reply, the knife's sharp edge vibrated, screeching a chipping sound in a rage.

"Once a lie is uttered, the knife's second condition is released. The charm spell will peel away, and the knife will demand for blood. The serial killer's murderous aura will then take over the wielder of the knife." Caster smirked, dispelling the knife's projection and projecting a fresh copy before he gave in to the urge to gut his Master. "In that sense, the knife actually makes for a convenient lie detector if used right."

Shirou narrowed his eyes at that. So, you could find out if a person was lying if he was holding the knife and it released bloodlust? Any way you sliced it, Shirou thought that the risk of being stabbed by the serial killer's bloodthirsty knife sounded far too risky. But then again, Shirou thought that as a Servant, Caster must have had different standards for "convenient". Still, he didn't like the idea of being anywhere near a serial killer's personal killing knife…

"Hey, what!?" Shirou suddenly jolted, his thoughts were disrupted as his voice leaked out in alarm.

Shirou felt a brush of cold air slap his face. One second, he was down on his back on the cave floor like a pebble and then the next second, Caster grabbed him, and he was slung over his Servant's shoulder like mere luggage. Caster had once again moved at a speed beyond Shirou's perception. It was like his Servant had teleported from one place to another in the blink of an eye.

"Caster! Hey, what are you doing?" Shirou demanded for an answer, flailing his arms. But for all his moving, Caster only seemed to tighten the hold over him.

"Carrying you obviously," Caster spoke walking out of the chamber.

"I know that. But why?" Shirou asked, indignant.

"You'd catch a cold if you stayed on the ground any longer." Caster snorted. "Anyway, we're done here. I've finished my objective and established a link to the Ley Line. We're going back to the Temple and you're going back to bed. Or would you rather I just leave you out here in the cold?"

Shirou's eyes twitched at the thought. He averted his gaze. "Still… isn't there any better way of carrying me?" He grumbled, his cheeks puffing up subconsciously.

"Afraid not, Master. This is the best way," Caster insisted.

Like hell it was. "I am not some sack of rice, Caster! Can't you at least give me a piggyback?" Shirou reasoned.

"This is the best way," Caster reiterated, sniggering.

"Hey, did you just laugh, jerk? There's no way this is the best way! You just wanna have some laughs at my expense, don't you?" Shirou yelled. He couldn't shake the distinct feeling that Caster was going out of his way to embarrass him.

But not long after, Shirou lost to his exhaustion once more and quieted down. His sight dimmed and the corners of his vision began to fog. Caster's grip on him loosened by a bit, no longer as harsh and more comfortable.

Silence took over and a few more minutes passed. Shirou hated to admit it. But he actually felt a semblance of comfort being carried by Caster even if it was in the most demeaning way possible. The warmth of the man's skin, the sturdiness of his broad shoulders, the firm hold of his hands. Shirou felt an undeniable source of support from him.

As the stress of tonight's events took on its toll, Shirou found himself more and more giving into Caster's comfort. His eyelids drooped with a heaviness. His consciousness slowly lulled back down to the darkness…

 _You chose wrong, Hero! HAHA!?_

Shirou jolted back into consciousness. He thrashed about in Caster's hold. His body refused to stay still. In spite of his body's exhaustion near paralysis, Shirou wildly resisted the idea of being bound and gagged.

"Hey! Keep still," Caster barked at him, brows crossed. He put more strength into holding him up in an attempt to make the boy stop.

But Shirou couldn't hear him or feel his hold. The boy shook erratically like a drowning man. He screamed with all the breath he could muster. "Stop laughing! I said, stop laughing, you monster!"

Hot tears streaked down the child's cheeks as he cried his heart out. His voice cracked and bounced over the cave walls, echoing back and forth until even the earth started crying with him.

Caster stopped walking. He brought Shirou into a hug, holding him close to his chest. The boy resisted, but Caster firmly placed his hands over his shoulders. "Hey, it's okay now! Calm down. He's gone now. You're safe! You're safe with me!" The embrace tightened.

But Shirou only grew angrier. In his fit of madness, he bit into Caster's nape. His tiny teeth only managed to barely scrape the surface of Caster's skin and drawing a few meager specks of blood. Blue lines spread over Caster's body to prevent any further harm.

Caster reinforced his arms and managed to finally hold Shirou in place. The pain of Caster's hold finally broke the boy out of his delirium. His breathing was a mess, but he started to look around his surroundings clearly.

"Caster…?" He asked with a tired and raspy voice.

"Yes, I'm here," Caster said.

All the strength in Shirou's body left him. He felt himself slack against Caster's body. There was a rusty smell around his nose and mouth. And after tonight's event, Shirou would never again mistake that particular smell.

"I hurt you… I'm sorry," he apologized, too weary to even raise his voice.

"It's okay. Servants are tough." Caster said, not releasing his embrace. "Have you calmed down now?"

Shirou nodded meekly. "Hn, I'm sorry… I promise. I'll do better… I won't cry in the Grail War…" He rested his tired chin over Caster's stern shoulder. "So please… don't leave me."

It was pathetic of him. Breaking down like this after a bad nightmare? He was supposed to be a Master, a fearless magician fighting for the Holy Grail. He'd be lucky if Caster still honored their deal of equal say in the Grail War.

Caster understood what Shirou meant by his words. Their contract as Master and Servant conveyed a fear of abandonment and irreparable loss. He frowned and the ruffled the boy's red hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

And Caster did just that, plopping down to the cavefloor on his ass and leaning against the wall. He cradled his Master about his chest. He didn't want to move him too much after his panic attack. He stayed there in the cold, activating his magic circuits to heat up his body and provide some warmth for his Master.

Shirou mumbled in comfort. Tears still dripped down his face, staining Caster's suit. "Caster… when will this pain go away?"

Caster thought about what to say. His Master was asking for comfort, but the boy didn't deserve a lie. He thought back to his own experience with trauma. He had witnessed countless atrocities in his life, many of them wrought by his own hand, but there was one memory that specially came to mind. A hellish fire that threatened to consume the earth. A boy trekking through that fire with his hand over his ears, ignoring the screams of people being burned alive. The guilt of being the only survivor driving that boy into a self-inflicted path of impossible ideals.

"It'll take time, but eventually, you'll reach a point where you'll forget everything in the past. You'll lose the things you once held dear and you'll become an empty husk with nothing but regrets."

Like how he ended up, on that hill of swords. Alone, empty, regretful.

"What…?" Shirou asked as his consciousness finally gave in to the exhaustion once and for all.

The boy fell asleep in Caster's arms, not understanding the man's last words. His only knew that at the time, Caster felt so sad.

This time, Shirou didn't wake back up. Caster knocked the boy out with one precise hit at his neck. He carefully got back up and made sure to carry Shirou with the utmost care. He returned to trekking through the cave. As he neared the entrance, he spotted an object left out of place on the ground. He stooped down to pick it up.

It was the red Super Sentai mask he made Shirou wear, dust now covering its black visor.

Sometimes it was indeed better to let go of the past, lest we make mistakes we'd regret in the future.

Caster blew at the mask. He wondered again why he forced Shirou to wear this mask despite all the boy's resistance. At the time, Caster's only thoughts of the mask were that it was a present from Shirou's parents and it'd be a waste to throw it all away.

"I hope you find a different answer, Shirou," Caster said to himself as he carried the mask with him out of the cave. The killer's knife tucked away in his coat not once reacting; no lie uttered.

* * *

Author's Note:

It's been about a year since the last update on this account, and that was for "Promise of Winter". I'm sure I made some irresponsible promises before about updating soon or something like that. It clearly never panned out like I'd hope. This story has probably been long forgotten and all the excitement and promise it had has just about dried out. But still, I had half the chapter sitting on my computer and I came across a fanfic writer who updated their story after a year of hiatus and was like, "Wow, I wish I had the guts to get back into it like that.". So, I finished the chapter.

I honestly knew that I wanted Shirou to cry his heart out again, like I haven't had him do that in the past four chapters. Well, he's seven and he watched his parents brutally slaughtered before him. If any kid had a reason to cry incessantly, it's Shirou. At first, I was apprehensive of showing him crying again, so I knew I had to shake things up a little. At this point, Shirou already has a vague goal of winning the Grail War and bringing back his parents. But he's still a kid and cries. However, he also has the self-awareness to promise that he won't cry again during the Grail War. I made him a little more manic in this chapter, actually snapping at Caster's neck and drawing blood. Only a timely reinforcement prevented any major blood loss. From personal experience, the shallower a bite is, the more likely it is to rupture a blood vessel as compared to a deep bite which will just be stopped by muscle, fat and bone. Caster hardened his skin at the last minute so that it actually hurt Shirou more than it hurt him. Of course, Shirou's high on emotion and can barely register that pain in his teeth.

I wanted to give another look at the other Masters. Last time, it was Tokiomi, so this time it's our favorite dynamic duo of Waver and Rider. I'm not confident of their characterization. My image of Waver is of an insecure whine and Rider a carefree dude who can't take Waver seriously yet.

The next chapter will come out by hopefully, the end of September.

Thanks for reading.


	6. True Nature

Chapter 6: True Nature

Fujimaru Shirou dreamed of swords. Thick smog covered his sight, but through the blurred gaps, he would see them. They stood planted into the earth, numbering in the thousands. Some of them adorned with jewels or crafted from gold. Others rusted or chipped. A few even radiated auras of divine power. But regardless, they were all the same, swords.

He didn't understand where he was or how he got here. Swords covered the earth in every direction. As he traversed through the thicket of swords, the path became more and more rugged. The land was utterly barren, with nary a sign of anything alive. Shirou would have expected to see some trace of vegetation at least, but it seemed like this land only carried swords.

He wandered aimlessly for what felt like hours. His feet grew weary with every new blade he passed. Any distinguishable landmark was shrouded in thick smog, so it felt like he were wandering in circles. Eventually, his legs gave in and his body swayed forward, falling. But at the last second, his hands grasped for the nearest sword in front of him and he held himself upright.

The sword's hilt was cold to the touch. Icy pain attacked Shirou's hands. He jerked back on instinct and landed on the ground gracelessly. Pain ran through his back as he fell over rocks, but he laid still, too tired to move another step. He stared up to the sky, but all he could see was the black shroud of smog. The sun didn't even seem to exist here, so what was giving this place any light?

The answer came the next moment as the smog slowly fell away, opening up. Shirou's eyes widened. There, hanging up above him in the skies, were gargantuan metal gears. They turned slowly in an intricate system of connections. They rumbled with every turn. A fiery orange light hid behind the gears, like the flames of a forge. The molten heat waved through the air, clearing portions of the smog.

Shirou finally saw a good complete look of his surroundings. He was definitely not on Earth. The red land of swords stretched as far as the horizon. It was like an alien planet made of swords. Maybe it was supposed to be Mars?

"Why would there be swords on Mars?" Shirou asked himself aloud. He shook his head. Even for him, the idea of swords left lying around on Mars was dumb.

He closed his eyes and felt the rough wind brush against his cheeks. The sand around this place tasted rusty. Like it was steeped in iron. The taste reminded Shirou of Caster's blood which he had a tiny nick of from last night in his frenzied state.

 _Bzt! Bzt!_

Shirou flinched. He clenched his teeth. Thoughts of Caster's blood entering his system seemed to trigger something in his mind. Static noise screeched in his head, pain ringing in his ears. He saw flashes of a different scenery in his mind. A battlefield littered with countless dead bodies, bloody arrows sticking out of their chests. The scenes kept changing, flashing one after the other. A dark alley. A burning city. A sandy desert. An urban metropolis. They were all different from each other, but they all shared one thing in common. They were drowned in a bloody sea of corpses strewn with arrows.

"W-what is this?" Shirou asked, struggling through the pain as he gripped his head, scrunching. "Make it stop. Make it stop! NO MORE, PLEASE…!"

But the flashes did not stop. They sped up, each bloody image coming faster than the one before. Each time the scene changed, there was a dull thudding sound. It grew louder and louder with every new gruesome battlefield. The sound steadily became crisper and more recognizable.

Shirou's eyes widened. He glanced at the closest object beside him.

It was the sound of a sword stabbing through the dirt, the sound of a blade scraping through the gruff soil with an audible crunch. Once Shirou recognized what that sound was, the scenes he saw started to change. Right before every new image, he would see a man shrouded in smoke. He was dressed in black leather armor under a tan cloak. His gloved hands would always be holding a sword. He would always stab his sword into the ground, and then another new dead body would flash in Shirou's mind.

" _Why_?" Shirou screamed.

The man planted a sword. A little girl had her heart pierced. The man planted a sword. A young boy's lungs were punctured. The man planted a sword. A woman's brain was skewered. The man planted a sword. An old man burned alive in hell.

" _Stop_!" Shirou demanded, convulsing on the ground. " _Why don't you stop_?"

He saw the image of a little girl's eyes slit open. Her tears burst out like red tears.

" _Why would you do this?"_ Shirou's voice cracked as his pleas for mercy went unanswered.

He understood. He didn't know or why. But Shirou understood. _That man_ was doing this. Every time he planted another sword into this world, he would take another person's life. _That man_ was responsible for all this needless bloodshed, the slaughter of countless. Worse, with every sword stabbed into the ground, Shirou felt his own hurt, like it was he himself doing the killing.

He understood. The heart-wrenching pain in his heart told him how the man must have felt doing all this. It hurt like hell. Like someone was shredding his heart in a blender on full blast. It hurt like hell.

" _Why…"_ Shirou's voice was raspy and weak now.

The pain with every kill began to numb. He began to grow used to the pain. Slowly, the smoke around that man holding the swords cleared, revealing the outline of a back Shirou had recently been familiarized with. He knew immediately. It really was _him_.

Caster stabbed another sword into the earth, never stopping. Every time he did it, another nail was added into the coffin building around his heart. Every time he killed, another part of himself died with his victim.

Shirou didn't understand. Why did he have to keep killing people if it hurt him so much? What kind of reason could he possibly have to justify something so stupid?

"Eventually, you'll reach a point where you'll forget everything in the past. You'll lose the things you once held dear and you'll become an empty husk with nothing but regrets…"

His vision cleared. Those words… the answer he gave in the cave? Was this what he had meant?

"C-caster? What are you say-"

The distant look Caster wore stopped Shirou silent. He didn't even look like he was alive anymore. An air of aimlessness, without purpose or reason, surrounded the man. Whatever definitive traits a human carried that made them human, Caster had lost them all. Any trace of pain or anguish in his killing was now lost to him. Only a grim look of resignation remained. He just kept on killing people endlessly like a mindless machine.

 _Murderer!_

Shirou twisted. His brain split in half. Did he hear that right?

 _Murderer! Killer for hire! Slaughterer of the innocent! DIE. KILLER, DIE._

" _Agh, who?_ " Shirou grinded his teeth till he felt them creak. Who was spewing all these curses?

There came an audible squishing sound. Like a rake combing through chunky meat.

"Ugh, oof!"

In the visions, Caster spasmed and coughed blood. His body cracked open as it was torn apart from the inside. Swords sprouted from within him, tearing through his skin. Blood erupted out of his body like it was water balloon of blood spraying all over the ground. His body was reduced to that of a human-sized pincushion of swords. But somehow, he managed to remain standing. The pain must have been unbearable, but still, like a machine, Caster created another sword in his hand.

 _No._ Shirou thought, too tired to even give voice to his thoughts. _Don't do it, Caster…_

Caster planted the new into the earth, and half his face was blown off as a sword quite literally sprang from his mouth.

"Caster!" Shirou called out, raising his hand to reach out to his Servant as his vision dissolved to black. The pain finally finished eating away at his consciousness. He died of exhaustion.

* * *

"I'm here."

Shirou jolted. His left arm sprang up, outstretched, as if reaching for something. Sweat ran down his face and he had to take five long seconds of reprieve to understand anything. He was staring up at a beige ceiling of traditional Japanese architecture. The sweat-soaked sheets around him felt like a futon and he could vaguely see tatami mats in the corners of his periphery.

Was any of _this_ real? Or was this another _Mars of swords_ situation?

There came a coughing sound, followed by an impatient grunt. "You called for me? I'm here," the voice repeated.

Shirou finally registered that the voice directed towards him. He dropped his arm back down and craned his neck up. There, standing by the doorframe, was a perfectly well-dressed man in a black suit, Caster. His face was fine, immaculate even.

Shirou blinked. He had another look of the room and remembered. This was the room in the temple that the monk had lent out for Shirou and Caster to use. Recognition for the room was a tad delayed on account of how bright it was now compared to last night's first look of the room. In any case, he had apparently just woken up.

"W-what time is it…?" Shirou asked, rubbing his eyes and raising his upper body up.

Caster frowned at that. "Much later than I'd like it to be. It's already eight in the morning." He said the time like he was actually ashamed of it, disgusted even. "I'll let today slide on account of last night's extraneous circumstances. But starting tomorrow morning onward, you will be getting up by five."

"What? Why?" That broke Shirou out of his panic-turned-disconcerting stupor.

"Morning training," Caster explained, folding his arms. "You _did_ ask for me to teach you magecraft. If you're going to learn anything useful in time for the war, we'll have to hustle and use every ounce of time we have available to drill the basics into you. Additionally, physical exercise should be integral for your survival."

Shirou drank in the words like "training", "magecraft" and "physical exercise" and slowly nodded. He really shouldn't have anything against Caster taking up his role as mentor seriously. Still, he felt himself wrestle restless, rebelling against the idea of waking so early every day. It didn't help that his heart was still steadying.

"What did you see?" Caster asked.

The question came out of nowhere, catching Shirou off-guard. Shirou blinked. They locked eyes and he could see that Caster wasn't playing the fool. There would be no use in denying that he hadn't seen anything. But… how did Caster know something was wrong?

"Don't just give me that confused look. I know you must have seen something from my life. It's no surprise. Dreaming of each other's lives is proof of our contract as Master and Servant. And judging from how you just woke up, you must have seen something rather unpleasant." Caster raised a brow.

Shirou lowered his gaze. He thought of all he'd seen. The bloodshed and devastation wrought by the man that stood before him. The image of him slaughtering thousands of people and the warmth of his embrace last night overlapped, creating a sense of incongruity. He gripped the sheets by his lap tight and asked himself again. What did he really know about this man?

"What? You won't answer?" Caster cocked back his head. "Didn't you want me to keep you in the loop for our plans? Now, suddenly, you're refusing to share whatever it was you saw?"

"N-no! It's just… It's a little…" Shirou answered flustered. He scrambled for the right words to say. He really did want the two of them to be more open with each other. But just the thought what he'd seen, what he'd experienced, Shirou had to cover his mouth to stop himself from hurling.

Caster took a long look at the boy and sighed, shaking his head. "I see. Forget it then. Judging by the look on your face alone, an expression that says you're about to vomit, I can tell. You saw it, didn't you?"

Shirou didn't answer, only tightening the hand clasped over his mouth. He felt his stomach curl, pushing out for everything it could reject. Shirou felt last night's coming back up with a vengeance. He jerked up, holding it in his dinner in the last minute.

Sometime during Shirou's battle with his stomach, Caster left the room. He thought his presence would only bring his Master more discomfort. He stayed by the door, not really leaving him. "That wasn't something a kid should've seen." He muttered an apology. He'd been numb to it for so long that even his sincerity sounded half-hearted. Was it _really_ not normal for a person to experience so much bloodshed?

Inside the room, Shirou successfully managed to rein in his stomach from purging itself. He took several deep breaths and steadied his breathing. When enough time passed, he was finally able to settle down as the images he saw blurred in obscurity like all dreams eventually did.

There came a knocking sound from the doorframe. Shirou broke from his daze, seeing that Caster had returned with a glass of water. The Servant bent down to Shirou's height and offered the glass.

"Thank you," Shirou said, graciously accepting it but not having the courage to look at Caster in the eye. He drunk the water slowly. He felt the cool liquid flush down the acidic bits of puke that reached his throat.

Caster frowned as he watched the boy drink his water. He wondered if today's dream vision would be a permanent wrench between their cooperation as Master and Servant. He shook his head again. "I know you had it rough, but you should do your best to forget about trivial things for now."

Shirou slowed in his water drinking. Caster would call everything he saw as trivial?

Caster placed a hand over Shirou's back. He massaged it tenderly. "Like I said before, it's fine if you don't trust me. Just know that I'm your only option for winning the Holy Grail and granting your wish."

Shirou felt guilty at that. He forced himself to look at Caster in the face. The man's expression was as blank as ever, but if he squinted, there was almost a twinge of something like sadness. Or was that just his wishful imagination?

Caster stood up and moved to leave the room again. "When you can, pull yourself together and come out. We'll be having breakfast with the monks soon."

Shirou looked up in a daze, setting his glass down. "Huh?"

"We need to thank them for their hospitality again so we're sharing a meal together," Caster explained.

Shirou understood. He wanted to get up immediately and join Caster heading out. But he found that his body was unwilling. His legs felt exhausted? Hadn't he been sleeping all night? Why did they feel like he'd just walked an entire marathon?

Caster shook his head, grabbing the boy's now empty glass. "Come out when you're ready. I'll bring you another glass."

He walked out of the room. Shirou felt touched at his Servant's concern, but at the same time, he had to wonder just Caster was really thinking. He had only known the man for less than twenty-four hours and in that span of time, Caster had killed his parents' killer, threatened to kill him, cook him dinner, took him to a temple, threw a bunch of swords at him and now, comforted him.

It was just too much.

* * *

Emiya Kiritsugu blew out another cold breath. His gloved hands already began to feel numb, but nevertheless, the smile across his face could not be stopped. Because although the winter was exceptionally cold today, his hands carried the greatest source of warmth he had ever found in his whole life.

A little girl with white hair dressed in violet winter garb sat atop Kiritsugu's shoulders, supported by his hands. The little girl laughed as she used her hands to touch the tall branches she could normally never reach.

"Fuwah! Kiritsugu, I found another one!" She cried aloud as her hands played with the frozen tip of a branch. The odd shape of this tip stuck out from the rest in the forest. It was the blossom of a walnut or something. "Illya is winning!"

Emiya Kiristugu chuckled at that, delighted in his daughter's excitement. "Illya, shouldn't daddy get a point too? He is carrying you after all."

"Nope! I found it first and I touched it first!" She flashed a cheeky smile and crossed her arms stubbornly.

"Oh, then should daddy put you down now? He still wants to win after all." Kiritsugu bargained, scratching the stubble on his chin.

Illya blinked, immediately shaking her head at that. "No! Absolutely not! As the loser, Kiritsugu must accept his punishment and carry the winner! Illya won fair and square, not like daddy!"

"Playing fair doesn't mean you should win, Illya." Kiritsugu argued, smiling at his daughter's willful innocence. He had spoiled her rotten all right. "Daddy will agree to surrender. You win my little princess," He said as he picked up the pace in his stride. They breezed through the snowy forest in a speedy dash.

Illya screamed in delight without a trace of fear. She held absolute confidence that her father would never let her down. The world would burn before he would let anything bad happen to her. Her laughter only grew louder as Kiritsugu's speed increased.

Before long, they had run around the entire castle perimeter. Kiritsugu leaned on the back of a large black tree. Illya was now cradled in his arms, nestling against his chest. She was incredibly light, a trait from her half-homunculus nature. Kiritsugu had felt no strain in his arms in carrying her. The only reason he stopped was to catch his breath after all the running he did.

Illya placed her ears close to her father's chest. She heard his heart beat a mile a second and panicked. She hadn't ever experienced the heartbeat of another person so erratic as this. "Are you okay, Kiritsugu?" She asked worriedly. She feared that she'd pushed him too far in their game today.

"Of course, daddy is fine, Illya," Kiritsugu said between bated breaths. "Just let me… catch my breath for a minute." He snuggled, placing his chin over her tiny little head.

Illya felt a little guilty for dragging her father out here in the cold. They had originally just come to count the walnuts, but one thing had led to another and Illya secretly knew that her father and mother would be leaving very soon. They never told her, but she was an astute girl. She had seen the signs and heard the whispers from Justabeicht's office. This was why she had wanted to spend the past few days with her parents as much as possible.

"Hey, you two! It's almost time for supper!" A carefree voice called out to the two of them from the castle entrance. A woman in white waved her hand as she smiled her way to them.

"Mama!" Illya leaped out of Kiritsugu's arms and dashed into her mother's embrace. "Play with us too!"

Irisviel von Einzbern smiled. She placed her hand over her precious daughter's head, brushing the bits of snow off her white hair affectionately. "Ufufu, perhaps another day, Illya. It's getting too dark out now. We can play together another day."

"Hmm…" Illya pouted, playing coy. "Is that a promise, Mama?"

"Of course, Mama would never lie to Illya." Irisviel held Illya's hand and slowly walked to Kiritsugu's side. As they got closer, Illya carefully read the expression on her mother's face. Was she really sure she could keep her promise?

Kiritsugu took her other hand and together, her mother and father escorted her back into the castle. They were the Magus Killer and the Lesser Grail. But right now, they were two parents, smiling at each other. Illya tossed her worries to the back of her mind and laughed giddy, excited for another supper together as a family.

In a certain distance away, by the second-floor window of the castle, a regal woman in silver armor studied the family of three interact. She was a figure from another time and place. She stood there as another symbol of the changing times.

Illya and the woman locked eyes once they were close to the castle. The woman didn't shy away at her gaze. She further observed the family of three. She wondered about the true nature of the Master who summoned her and the people around him.

* * *

Breakfast was surprisingly delicious. Shirou had the impression that meals in a temple would be humble but even the simple set of a Japanese breakfast was served deliciously. Shirou blew some smoke off his piping hot bowl of miso. He sipped some gingerly, careful not to scald his tongue. The taste was heavenly, a perfectly balanced symphony of acidity and salt. The cubes of tofu melted in his mouth comfortably. But most importantly, there was not a trace of red meat in his breakfast, nothing that would upset his stomach.

"Phew! We really must thank Fujimaru-san today! This breakfast is the best I've ever had in this temple!" One of the senior monks jokingly exclaimed as he finished his bowl of rice. "Another!" He said, raising his bowl for a serving more of rice.

Caster, who had at some point traded in his coat and tie for a plain black apron, happily scooped out another serving of rice for the man. The Servant was stationed beside the rice cooker like it was the most natural thing to do.

"What?" Shirou couldn't stop his bewilderment from leaking out. He hadn't thought that Caster had cooked breakfast for the whole temple. Sure, Caster had served him pancakes for dinner last night, but the difference in magnitude between a single plate of pancakes and a whole dining hall's worth of breakfast was staggering. When did his Servant even find the time?

Shirou's shocked glance at the man was rather telling and Caster snorted. "I told you that you woke up too late, didn't I? We're going to be troubling them for quite a bit. It's only fair that we pay them back a little," Caster muttered quietly so that only Shirou could hear. "Even freeloaders ought to have a little pride."

Was that a jab at him? Admittedly, Shirou felt a little shameless for sleeping in now. He probably wouldn't have been much help at cooking. But he could've at least helped set the table or something. They were currently in the main dining hall of the temple. All the staff were sitting together in a long table, their legs folded in a seiza manner. Shirou who couldn't maintain a seiza position for long suddenly felt even more out of place.

"Alright, I'll wake up early tomorrow," Shirou muttered under his breath as he stuffed his mouth with another chopstick's worth of rice.

As Shirou continued his breakfast, he began to feel someone's gaze dig into him. He traced it back across the other side of the table. Over there sat a boy about his age with short navy-blue hair and glasses. The boy's blue eyes burned into Shirou's, equal parts of curiosity and wariness smoldering within them. Shirou tilted his head, still chewing on his rice. He tried to recall where he might have seen the boy before. They certainly weren't from the same school.

The staring contest between the two boys was quickly picked up by the others at the table. Old man Ryuudou coughed into his fist, gesturing to the boy with glasses. "Let me introduce you two. Shirou, this is my second son Issei. He goes to the nearby Homurahara Elementary School as a second grader. Issei, this is Shirou-kun. He and his guardian Fujimaru Ritsu will be staying with us for the time being."

Shirou swallowed down his food before nodding. "It's nice to meet you, Issei. My name is Fujimaru Shirou. I'm also a second grader student from Shinto Elementary. Though I'm taking a leave of absence for a while." Shirou introduced himself while scratching his cheek. He was no stranger to the act of making friends, but he just wasn't used to the lie he and Caster had fabricated about him ditching school.

Issei nodded in kind. His glasses glinted off sunlight as he spoke. "It's nice to meet you too, Fujimaru-kun." He spoke with a soft, but steady voice. He also gave off the air of not being all that outspoken, sticking to the use of Shirou's family name when addressing him.

Shirou suddenly thought he might have acted too overly familiar by starting off with "Issei" on their first meeting.

Luckily, Shirou was saved from his growing embarrassment when Caster patted him on the back. "In a temple full of adults like this, it would be good if the two of you were to hit it off. I'm asking you to take care of my troublemaking ward, Issei-san," Caster said as he ruffled Shirou's hair.

"H-hey!" Shirou resisted and spoke through their telepathic connection. "Who the heck is your ward?" He protested.

Caster didn't dignify his Master's question with an answer, only pinching the boy's side to shut him up. Shirou grunted but got the message. He had almost forgot himself. He wiped the displeasure off his face and put his on best smile for the Ryuudous, doing his best not to rouse any more suspicion.

The young Issei from across the room scrutinized Shirou's face quietly. His eyes were far too calm for a boy his age. They studied Shirou's expression on multiple layers. Shirou wondered if he had been too obvious, but ultimately Issei didn't bring anything up and just took another sip of his miso.

Old man Ryuudou witnessed the energized stare between the young boys. He thought that while his second son was responsible and mature, Issei wasn't a child of many friends. He grinned, seeing the opportunity. "Today is a day-off from school, right? Issei, why don't you give Shirou-kun a tour of the mountain?"

Issei and Shirou both blinked at that. They locked eyes and sized each other's intentions up. Issei didn't really seem against the idea and Shirou looked like he would be up for a tour.

Caster watched their exchange and nodded his head. "That sounds like a great idea. It also lines up nicely with what I had in mind. I'm going to be heading downtown for a few errands and was worried Shirou would be bored out of his mind in my absence."

This was news to Shirou.

"Can't I come with you?" He asked Caster with a look of disappointment. Whatever happened to keeping him in the loop of their plans?

"No, it's just some boring adult work. You kids should get along better," Caster refused, shaking his head politely. Telepathically, he continued. _"I'll be back by the dinner. I'll show you what I've made then."_

There was no room for discussion in Caster's voice. Shirou had to question if they were really partners. But ultimately, he supposed every partner should ought to trust their partner once in a while. He looked at Issei and smiled awkwardly. "Then if Ryuudou-san wouldn't mind…?"

Issei stayed silent for a few seconds before nodding. "It's no problem, Fujimaru-kun." If it was just a simple tour, then he should concede to his father's idea.

"Good, then it's settled." Old man Ryuudou clapped his hands together. "You two can go after we've finished breakfast."

"Thank you for your hospitality," Shirou and Caster both thanked the Ryuudou Temple Monks and continued on with their meal.

The monks talked avidly amongst themselves. But they also managed to include Caster in the loop of their conversation. The Servant was more than capable of keeping up with their discussion and spoke of his own opinions. Shirou however, only took more sips of his miso, not really having an appetite. He blended into the background. Though he had to pretend to be ignorant of Issei's ever constant gaze digging into him.

Unknown to Shirou, the Ryuudou boy was only thinking of one question on his mind:

What is your true nature?

* * *

Author's Note:

Word Count: 4784. Huh, not bad. It's been roughly 2 weeks since the last update and I'm pleasantly surprised I was able to churn out this chapter. I think I'm getting better at writing filler? Probably not something to be proud of, but this was a fun enough chapter to write, especially the scenes with Illya in them. Did you guys catch the fun little jokes at the Kiritsugu scene? Hope so.

I'm glad the title of the chapter just came out on my last edit of this chapter. "True Nature". People say that children though not the brightest or most rational, have a keen sense of things of things. In this chapter, the children do just that, trying to discern true nature of the new people they're meeting or interacting with. Shirou with Caster. Illya with Kiritsugu and Irisviel (though not so much). Issei and Shirou. And Saber and Kiritsugu too I guess...? Yeah.

Next chapter, well, will most likely cover that magecraft crash course session between Caster and Shirou. Look forward to that. Hopefully it turns out as nice I have it in my head. I was hoping to update on September 10, the anniversary of this fic, but that's not gonna happen, unless you guys are fine with a really, really short chapter (I'm not).

Also, thank you so much to the 19 people who reviewed last chapter! It warms my heart to know that someone would still review after this story's super long hiatus. Your reviews had a huge impact into the faster release of this update. Thanks again!

Also, also, to the readers who are my friends on FGO (NA), could you do me a favor and not unfriend me? I haven't taken the new event seriously yet but please don't unfriend me...? Puppy dog eyes here.

Thanks for reading.


End file.
